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' fv 






Reason and Dogma 

OR 

FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL 


By Rev. HENRY TRURO BRAY, M. A., B. D., LL. D., 

Author of 

“GOD AND MAN,” 

“THE EVOLUTION OF A LIFE? etc 



> * 




CHICAGO; 

TRURO PUBLISHING COMPANY. 
1894. 







^ST 

4-io 


✓ 



Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1894, 
BY HENRY TRURO BRAY, 

In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 



Pluris est oculatus testis unus quam auriti decern. 

(Plautus.) 

Multos puto ad sapientiam potuisse pervenisse nisi pu- 
tassent se pervenisse. (Seneca.) 

Speak a word in season to him that is weary. 

(Isaiah.) 


NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR. 


Although certain portions of the present work appeared in 
one of the author’s former publications, “The Evolution of a 
Life,” a work of which only a small edition had been sold when 
the author, for personal reasons, stopped its further publication; 
nevertheless, the present work is so different in substance, and 
so wholly different in method and arrangement, from “The 
Evolution of a Life” that it is absolutely necessary it should 
have a new title, one indicative of its true character and contents. 

HENRY TRURO BRAY. 


Chicago, Ill., Aug,, 1894. 



CONTENTS. 


Page 

CHAPTER I. 

Childhood and Youth. 13-23 

CHAPTER II. 

Mental Culture. 23-30 

CHAPTER III. 

Fruits of Study. 30-42 

CHAPTER IV. 

Credulity. 42-53 

CHAPTER V. 

Knowledge and Belief. 53-62 

CHAPTER VI. 

Self-Deception.62-71 

<* 

CHAPTER VII. 

The Greatest Is Charity. 71-87 

CHAPTER VIII. 

The Curse of Avarice. 87-99 

CHAPTER IX. 

Lamps without Oil. 99-104 

CHAPTER X. 

Faith without Works. 104-114 

CHAPTER XI. 

Imputed Righteousness.114-126 

CHAPTER XII. 

Brotherly Love.126-137 















CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

False Spirits.137-146 

CHAPTER XIV. 

Debasement of Religion. 146-156 

CHAPTER XV. 

Unreasonable Dogmas.156-164 

CHAPTER XVI. 

Loyalty to Truth. 164-170 

CHAPTER XVII. 

The Call of Duty. #/ ... 170-178 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

Clerical Skepticism.178-184 

CHAPTER XIX. 

Words and Works .184-191 

CHAPTER XX. 

Dishonorable Conduct.191-202 

CHAPTER XXI. 

The Dogma of Creation.202-221 

CHAPTER XXII. 

Thoughts of an Honest Priest... 221-233 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

Divine Conceptions. 233-240 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

The Judge’s Statement of the Case...240-247 

CHAPTER XXV. 

The Judge’s Conclusion. 247-259 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

Husk and Kernel. 259-268 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

Discussion of a Priest and a Warden.268-276 

















CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

Quieting a Mother’s Anxiety.276-282 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

Law and Ecclesiasticism.282-294 

CHAPTER XXX. 

One God—One Humanity. 294-308 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

A Priest and a Physician on Ecclesiasticism.308-318 

CHAPTER XXXII. 

The Resurrection... ... .318-338 

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

The Heavenly Adversary.338-346 

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

Happiness and Virtue.346-356 

CHAPTER XXXV. 

Death and Immortality. 356-374 

CHAPTER XXXVI. 

An Inquisitive Visitor.374-386 

CHAPTER XXXVII. 

Priestly Authority, Celibacy, and Morals.386-397 

CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

Reason Prevails.397-407 

CHAPTER XXXIX. 

The Barriers Are Broken.407-418 

CHAPTER XL. 

The Old and the New.418-436 


















“ For he knew that no man is an orphan; but that there 
an eternal Father who careth continually for all. ’ ’ 

(. Epictetus , referring to Hercules .) 


PREFACE. 


This work may bewailed a religio-philosophical novel; 
although the matter of the book is fact, not fiction. 

Between reason and dogma there has always been 
waging a most deadly strife, which has never been more 
universal than to-day. In these pages are set forth truly 
and fully, with all the attendant circumstances, causes, 
reasons, and results, the origin and growth of this strife, 
in the soul of an honest and scholarly clergyman. Henry 
Merton was a real man among men; and the mental labors, 
spiritual sufferings, heart bereavements, and whatever else 
is related in this work, are real experiences, and not the 
work of imagination. 

The incidents and occurrences of the average novel, 
while they may, or should, be possible, are scarcely ever 
actual; in other words, while they may not be contrary to 
human experience, they are hardly, and perhaps never, 
experienced by one and the same person. But in this 
work there is nothing made for the occasion. Neither art 
nor imagination has been allowed to run wild, or frame 
words not in themselves living realities. With the ex¬ 
ception of a few fictitious names, every sentence in this 
work is but the footprint of a human soul, and that too of 
a soul burning with a love of truth and righteousness. 

Here we have portrayed, as they actually occurred, the 
doubts and fears of an honest mind equipped, as but few 
are found to be, with abundant means for thorough in- 



il 


PREFACE. 


vestigation; and possessing, to a very rare degree, a firm 
resolution to probe these doubts and fears to the very 
bottom, at whatever costs. First, we see the causes that 
gave rise to these doubts and fears; secondly, their growth 
and development; and, thirdly, their reasons and results. 

Henry Merton sought the truth as only the few ever 
seek it, for the great host of mankind follow their leaders; 
and the latter, sad to say, are in general bound by the 
three forces, prejudice, custom, and self-interest, to es¬ 
tablished usages and customs; and what these three forces 
fail to accomplish, ignorance for the most part perfects. 

Thus there is but little opportunity for the birth and 
growth of Truth. Should Truth happen to be conceived, 
it is probably blighted in gestation; should it fortunately 
pass this stage, it will likely perish in infancy for the lack 
of sufficient nourishment; but should it marvelously reach 
maturity, then will it be exposed to the-blandishments of 
ten-thousand false-hearted lovers, or tread Gethsemane 
alone, drink the bitter cup of persecution prepared by 
Superstition and Bigotry, and probably finally lay its life 
down as the reward of its own spotless virtue, and as a 
sacrifice for the good of humanity. 

If the conclusions at which Merton arrived, and which 
are in this book worked out, are true, then is the religious 
nature of man grievously burdened with dogmas no less 
pernicious than unnecessary; and if these conclusions are 
not true, then is all reason astray, and science deceptive. 
But if reason be astray, and science deceptive, humanity 
can believe in nothing, trust in nothing, hope for nothing; 
for whether wrong or right, we have only the lamp of 
reason to go by, and the foundation of reason to stand up¬ 
on; for even if we admit a divine and infallible revelation, 
we admit it only because we believe it to be reasonable. 
Nor is there any person to be found in the whole world, 


PREFACE. 


iii 


who will admit that his beliefs, however monstrous, are 
unreasonable in themselves. It is certain to all that, in 
the words of Locke, “ Reason must be our last judge and 
guide in everything It is not at all likely, therefore, 
that any person would be so rash as to assert that the reason 
of the world, for the last twenty-five hundred years, has 
been astray; and since science is nothing but objective 
reason, or reason’s legitimate and necessary results, it can 
not be that the world of science is deceived. 

That the conclusions which Merton arrived at, and 
which are in this book worked out, are true therefore, we 
do not in the least doubt; and we are certain that the whole 
purely scientific world gives us its unqualified support as 
against the superstitions of the age. 

Nor do we doubt but that, if the readers of this work 
accept the conclusions herein specified, they will be hap¬ 
pier, more reasonable, more divine, and more god-like, 
enjoying more of heaven, and living more as Christ would 
have them live. 

From whatever side we look at this book, it must result 
in a blessing to him who carefully reads and inwardly di¬ 
gests its contents. While, on the one hand, the incidents 
and experiences related are full of absorbing interests; on 
the other hand, the information the work contains on the 
Scriptures, theological dogmas, creeds, and other matters, 
is very great; the morals it inculcates are of the very highest 
order; and its theology is broad, elevating, reasonable, 
world-embracing. 

But he who would derive the full benefit from the read¬ 
ing of this work, must, in the words of Huxley, “ pluck 
the blessed fruit from the tree of knowledge, unconcerned 
whether these conquests trench upon the poetical imagin¬ 
ation of faith or not ’ ’. This may be hard in certain cases 
to do; but such fearless love of truth, of God, of humanity, 


iv 


PREFACE. 


never fails of its great reward: for above all other encour¬ 
agements and blessings, is this one truth, 

“ Die Unschuld hat im Himmel einen Freund 

THE AUTHOR. 

Chicago, 1894. 


REASON and DOGMA 

OR 

FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL 


CHAPTER I. 

CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH. 


'T' HE year in which Henry Merton was born, is one 
well known in England and other parts of Europe. 
Seed-time and harvest had come and gone; but the sweat 
of the husbandman had not been rewarded. The sunken 
eyes and hollow cheeks of wives and children were driving 
strong men to the brink of madness, tvho knew not how to 
nourish the mother, or prevent the wail of the infant. 
Mutterings of discontent were everywhere heard; uprisings 
were frequent; insurrections threatened the land. 

Snow had fallen to a very great depth, thus cutting off 
from the poor many means of obtaining fuel at a time when 
their circumstances made it impossible for them to purchase 
coal, without using the money with which they should 
purchase bread. 

The birth of Merton must have added greatly to the 
anxiety of his parents, who were already burdened with 


(13) 



FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUt. 


H 

by no means a small family. From early morning till late 
at night, Merton’s father forever toiled, seeking to supply 
the wants of his family; which duty, as a rule, he was 
successful in accomplishing. But those were days of more 
than usual trial, and men’s courage had almost failed them. 
It would seem as if Heaven had conspired with earth to 
aggravate the woes of the unfortunate; and so must have 
thought the parents of Merton, when first he was ushered 
into this world; for in his advent a new life had come into 
the home; but neither mother nor child could be supplied, 
as they should be, with the nourishment they needed. 

Homes were full of wailings, which fathers and mothers 
were powerless to hush. The countenances of brave men 
revealed but dire apprehension. Famine was rampant in 
the land; despair was invading the fireside. And now the 
evils attending an unusually severe winter were everywhere 
present, intensifying the misery resulting from the scarcity 
of bread. Such were the conditions of many in England, 
at the time of Merton’s birth. 

Merton’s father was from a long line of industrious and 
honest people, whose fair name had never been sullied with 
the taint of crime. His mother had been raised in wealth 
and luxury, never knowing, in her maiden life, what it 
was to ask in vain for those things she thought desirable 
for her comfort or pleasure. Her marriage with Merton’s 
father embittered her people, who thenceforth resolved to 
have no more to do with her, but cut her off as a dead 
branch. The remembrance now of the luxury in which 
she had been raised, could but intensify the sufferings of 
the mother, as .she held the infant to the breast whose 
springs were all but dry from the lack of nourishing food. 
Such a condition of things, however, could not long pre¬ 
vail against the hard and unremittent toil of Mr. Merton; 
for labor conquers all adversities. 


CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH. 


15 


Several years had now passed away, and Merton was 
beginning his studies; and under his parents’ teaching so 
rapidly did he advance, that he was able to read the family 
Bible, in company with' the other members of the family, 
by the time he was five years of age. Study was a delight 
to him; and so incessant was he in the pursuit of it, that 
at eight years of age he became a student of the Grammar 
School, where he was soon known as one of the most 
faithful and progressive. The sound of the school-bell 
was music to him, and the thought of advancement filled 
his soul with devotion and zeal. In his studies he found 
constant delight, which day by day increased as his youth¬ 
ful soul expanded. His was an extremely sensitive nature. 
A rebuke from his parents would melt him into tears; and 
from his teacher, would fill him with shame. He was 
proud of his accomplishments, and most ambitious to excel; 
and believing that work accomplishes all things, he sought 
excellence in increasing study. 

Though generous, brave, studious, and truthful, Mer¬ 
ton had one bad fault—he was too impetuous. There are 
but few who are not obliged to repent of hasty action. A 
little consideration, a little reflection, would save many a 
youth from actions injurious to his welfare, and many a 
man from unpleasant memories, or from deeds that lead to 
irreparable ruin. 

Merton was one day reported by a young man left in 
charge of the school during the dinner hour, as having been 
unruly in fighting with a school-mate. On the master’s 
return, he was called up among others for chastisement. 
This was the first time he had ever been exposed to shame, 
and he felt the disgrace most keenly. Nor could he think 
that he was being justly punished. True enough he had 
been fighting with another; but he felt he had acted justly, 
as he had not been the aggressor, having acted only in 


i6 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUT. 


self-defence. But no time was allowed for explanation. 
“ Mr. Merton,” said the master, “lam surprised, sir, to 
find you here. For the sake of your past work in the 
school, I could overlook your conduct, were it not that no 
favoritism can be shown here. Hold forth your hand, sir. ’ ’ 
“Never, sir,” replied Merton. 

At this the master seized his hand, struck it several 
times with a hard, flat stick, and said, “ Go, sir, and sin 
no more. The way of the transgressor is hard. ’ ’ 

Merton went to his desk, collected his books, left the 
school, and never again returned. His was a nature that 
could not stand disgrace, and was at that time not worthy 
of it. The teacher should beware, lest by chastisement he 
kill rather than cure. 

The time was now fast coming when Merton was to be 
left without a father’s protection. Hardly yet in middle 
life, Mr. Merton had by anxiety and excessive labors 
greatly hastened his approach to the grave. Another 
cause for Mr. Merton’s rapidly failing health was the death 
of his son Willie. This was a lovely boy, mild in dis¬ 
position, large and handsome, and the father’s special 
delight. At his death the father’s spirits sank, and rose 
no more to their former height. Often might Mr. Merton 
be heard saying: “Father’s little man! thou canst not 
come to me, but I can go to thee. ’ ’ 

Merton had two sisters in the United States. They 
had been sending back good reports from their new home; 
and he determined, his parents consenting, to go to the 
new country, hoping to better his condition, and help his 
father in his declining health. 

The consciousness that he might be obliged to give up 
the education he longed for, on account of his father’s failing 
health, was a severe blow to Merton. The family at home 
consisted of father, mother, Theodore, and himself; all 


CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH. 


17 


the others had married and gone. Theodore was yet but 
ten years old. Thus, in case of his father’s death, the 
care of the home would naturally fall on Merton, who was 
now a little more than seventeen years of age. 

Up to this time Merton had used every spare moment 
in study; and among the boys of his age, he was thought 
a kind of wonder. To himself, however, he was anything 
but what he hoped to be. Yet, so superior were his at¬ 
tainments to those of youths in general, that even young 
men came to him for instruction at a night-school he had 
established. But he felt within his soul a burning thirst, 
an insatiable craving for higher knowledge, and broader 
information; and the fact that he saw the approaches that 
led to it closed, made him most unhappy. 

The day for parting had come. Merton was to leave 
the parental roof, never to see it again. Accompanied by 
his youthful companion, he was taken by his father to the 
port of departure. The separation was extremely painful, 
for Merton had much more than common filial love for 
his father; and the latter had made of his son a kind of 
idol, so proud of his attainments was he, and so full of 
expectation for his future. 

“Father’s little man,” said Mr. Merton, “you will 
never see your father again. Farewell, my boy, farewell. ’ ’ 

“ Nonsense, father,’’ replied Merton; “do not act thus. 
I shall be back again soon, or have you and mother with 
me. You will not be more than two or three years with¬ 
out me. If you grieve like this, I can not leave you.’’ 

“My son,’’ said the father, “go, and may God Al¬ 
mighty bless^and protect you; but be not deceived: father 
will be asleep before Christmas. - When I am gone, do not 
forget your duty to mother and Theodore. Poor little 
Theodore: father shall never see him raised; and you are 
the only one left me now to whom I may intrust him. 


18 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


May the God of Abraham bless thee, my little man. Fare¬ 
well, my son; farewell, my darling boy.” 

Long did Merton watch his father disappearing in the 
distance. Again and again did the fond parent gaze back¬ 
ward at the vessel that was to bear his child away. Even 
the ship itself seemed to share in the sufferings of father 
and son, as it creaked and groaned on the turbulent waters. 
But pen must fail to describe their ^feelings. The father’s 
heart was broken; the son’s life seemed oozing out of him. 
But great as the agony of the parent is, at seeing his child 
disappear from his gaze forever; so many are the difficulties 
of life, that this agony has frequently to be endured. What 
heart can fail to sympathize with the parent who sees his 
children leave their home, as birds their nest, never to see 
it again? What heart can fail to sympathize with the 
child thus deprived of parental counsel and protection ? 
They were parted. The father had disappeared over the 
hills; and from that hour he never saw his child again. 
The companion of Merton’s youth returned with Mr. Mer¬ 
ton. He was a good boy, a kind-hearted, cheerful fellow. 
Some time afterwards he left his widowed mother, and 
went to Australia; where his body now lies beneath the 
Australian sands. 

The sailors threw off the heavy ropes that bound the 
Queen to the wharf. Her paddles were turning, the quay 
receding; and soon Merton was on the briny deep. He 
proved a very good sailor, suffering but little from sea¬ 
sickness; but the pain he felt at leaving his parents gave 
him little opportunity of enjoying the voyage. 

Having arrived at his destination, his first work was 
to seek for .something to do, whereby he might be able to 
assist his parents. This, by the aid of a friend, he soon 
obtained. But long before any money was due him, he 
borrowed fifty dollars, and remitted it to England; and the 


CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH. 


19 

pleasure he felt in sending it, can only be appreciated by 
those who deny themselves for the dear ones they love. 
The welcome letter had traversed the favorable waters, 
and was now in the hands of the anxious parents, whose 
rejoicing was no greater than their surprise at knowing its 
contents. 

The lad had not long to wait for an answer; and when 
it came, he read it over and over. Then might have been 
seen alternate waves of pleasure and sadness passing over 
his countenance: waves of pleasure at the thought of hav¬ 
ing given comfort to his parents; waves of sadness at read¬ 
ing words that bespoke his father’s early death. “ Dear 
son,” wrote the father; “ little did we think that so early 
you would have sent us such proof of your tender love. 
I will confess it is a very acceptable present; for just now 
times are hard with father; and I fear I shall never work 
again. But it is too much to expect of you; and it grieves 
me that it should be necessary for you so to exert yourself. 
We thank you from our very souls; and trust that you may 
never have cause to regret doing what you have done. 

‘ ‘ The house is very lonely since you have gone, dear 
boy; and mother frequently goes around looking for you. 
But our nightingale has flown; and I feel a deep presenti¬ 
ment that I shall never again hear the voice I loved to 
hear so well. Your father little thought that his boy 
would be so far away from him. The sea seems wider 
now; and often as I have sailed its watery bosom, its waters 
show a darker hue, and make a deadlier sound, since they 
have borne you away. But father must not repine, my 
son. Perhaps it is God’s doings; we must submit’. In 
due time all may be well. 

“Let me again say, when father is gone, remember 
mother and Theodore. I shall be away; they will be with 
you. My weakness grows upon me; my steps hasten to 


20 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


the final resting-place of all. Do not grieve for father, 
when you shall know he is no more. The one comfort of 
my life at present is the thought that mother and Theodore 
will be taken care of: father is sure you will do your duty 
to them. She has been a good mother to you, my son; 
and some day little Theodore will grow up to call you 
blessed. Out of the many children God has given me, 
but one remains with us now. The house is cold, my 
darling boy; the light seems almost gone out. But father 
must bear a stout heart, and hope for the best: in'some 
way or other the Lord will provide. 

“And now, dear son, father must close. Mother and 
little Theodore send their love. 

“My child! my child! the tears will flow; they but 
ease the pent-up flood within. Take care what company 
you choose. Eschew evil companions. Strive after a 
pure heart, and a high education. Never cease to pray. 
Strive to be good, and some day we shall surely meet 
again. 

‘ ‘ I feel my days are drawing to a close. Earth is leav¬ 
ing father; but a better world is nearing. 

“With much love and my blessing. Father’s last.” 

It was the father’s last; for shortly afterwards Mr. Mer¬ 
ton ceased to be. His death completely prostrated Henry, 
who was so entirely bound up in his father, that he 
seemed as incapable of living without him, as the infant 
without its mother. Mr. Merton had been a very religious 
man; most affectionate, wholly unselfish, most assiduous 
in looking to the welfare of his children, always imparting 
such instructions as he could, and never ceasing to point 
them to God. He had brought his children up on their 
knees. He seemed to have been such a soul as the Divine 
Spirit must forever delight to dw r ell in. It was this father 
that Merton now knew had gone from him forever. No 


CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH. 


21 


more his tender caresses, no more his kind encouragement. 
The word “father” henceforth had a different meaning 
for Merton: it brought thoughts of the grave, and sighs 
for the times that would come no more forever. At the 
close of the day that had brought him the sad news of his 
father’s death, Merton kneeled in his wonted place, at 
the bedside; and there he poured out his soul before God: 

“God of my father,” he prayed, “pity me. Have 
mercy on me in my weakness. Pardon my sins, and 
guide my footsteps. Thou hast seen fit to take my father 
from me. To whom can I now go but to Thee. Be 
Thou my guide, my life, my way. Tead me in the way 
'I should go. Give me grace and strength to suffer and 
do; and grant that I may never depart from the path 
wherein my father taught me to go. Hear me, most 
merciful Father, for Thy name’s sake.” 

The lad was in a flood of tears; his very heart seemed 
breaking. At length when he rose from his knees, he felt 
comforted and strengthened. It seemed to him that his 
father was near; and that his blessed spirit said, “peace, 
be still.” Merton soon was fast asleep, dreaming that he 
was once more in the home of his youth, sitting in his 
father’s lap, listening to the stories of old. The home 
was full of happy children, and the fire burned brightly 
as if partaking of the merriment. He awoke to find it all 
illusion: strange faces were around him; strange voices 
fell on his ears. Soon the bitter thought returned that he 
was all alone in the world, with a mother and brother 
depending on him. But remembering his father’s words, 
he took courage, and went forth to battle with the difficul¬ 
ties of life. 

Merton was ever diligent at work, and no less so at 
his studies when opportunity offered itself. As day by day 
he besought God for prosperity and strength, he forgot 


22 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUT. 


not to pray for means and ability to acquire the education 
he wished. 

Nearly three years had elapsed since Merton had left 
his native land. He now determined to bring his mother 
and Theodore to the United States, having sent for his 
oldest brother two years previously. Thus in two years 
and eight months after the death of Mr. Merton, Henry 
had his mother and brother in their new home, in a strange 
land. It seemed painful to take the wife away so far from 
the resting-place of the departed husband; but Merton 
knew full well that he was but doing as his father would 
have advised, could the sound of the latter’s voice break 
through the dread silence of the tomb. 

There was now left in England but one married sister. 
All the rest of the family were in the United States. The 
adopted country began to appear like home. The fireside' 
was once more bright, the hearthstone blessed with the 
presence of the mother. One only was missing: that 
vacancy could never be filled. But even that beloved 
father, it appeared to Merton, had only gone before; and 
he hoped some day to meet him, by persevering in doing 
well. 

The father had now been dead nearly seven years, and 
Theodore was now about as old as Merton was at his 
father’s death, when leaving his mother in the care of 
Theodore, he set out for one of the first universities of the 
land. He passed without difficulty the examinations for 
admission, and rejoiced to feel that he was on the way to 
acquiring the education he longed for. 




CHAPTER II. 

MENTAL, CULTURE. 

The heart that hath understanding, seeketh knowledge. 

[Proverbs.) 

J T was on Christmas of the first year Merton passed at the 
university, that he lost by death the best friend he had 
ever known outside of his own family. Some months be¬ 
fore Merton had entered the university, he had received a 
letter from Mr. Uren, requesting an interview. He called 
on the gentleman, who immediately became so favorably 
impressed with the young man, that he urged him to pros¬ 
ecute his studies at once, promising any financial assistance 
that might be needed. 

Mr. Uren was a gentleman of large means, having 
neither wife nor child. During the interview with Merton, 
which was a protracted one, he said: “ I thank God I am 
able to assist a young man so ambitious and worthy; and 
I hope and believe you will be of great service to your 
fellowmen. Take this check now. It is a small matter, 
but sufficient, I presume, for all present needs. When it 
is done, send to me for more. Write often; let me know 
all your wants. While I live, you shall not want for any¬ 
thing. Should I die, I think we can make it all right.” 

Thus in Mr. Uren had Merton found a father, a gentle¬ 
man on whom he might rely. His letters to Merton at 
the university, were frequent and encouraging: “Do not 
hesitate, ’ ’ he wrote, ‘ ‘ to ask me for what you want. I am 
sure I can not use my wealth to a better purpose than in 


( 23 ) 


24 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


helping you. It is right, of course, for you to be econom¬ 
ical; but equally wrong to deny yourself anything that 
may aid you in your endeavors after a finished education. 
When I was a boy, I had no opportunity of applying my¬ 
self to study; and to-day I am bitterly conscious of this 
grave defect in me. I think of you as my own son; and I 
wish you to be what, under favorable circumstances, I 
might have been. But I feel sure you can be very much 
more than this. Therefore make use of me. Nothing can 
give me greater pleasure than to supply you with whatever 
you want to perfect yourself in those studies that may make 
you a power in the world.” 

Thus wrote this noble and generous soul; but now Mr. 
Uren was no more. His death was sudden and unexpected. 
Whatever he may have intended doing, by way of securing 
Merton’s future in the completion of his studies, nothing 
had been done: the young man was henceforth left to his 
own resources, and the assistance of his youngest brother. 

The expense of his student-life at the university was 
somewhat lessened, from the fact that he was preparing for 
the ministry; for all ministerial students had dormitories, 
in the institution, free of rent. Such rooms were also 
larger, better situated, and more healthful than those, as 
a rule, obtained at private houses. Whether productive 
of good or evil, the young man preparing for the ministry 
is the recipient of very many favors. It is largely this 
fact, in all probability, that leads so many young men, 
weak in character, and of small ability, to choose the min¬ 
istry as their profession in life. The many favors offered 
by the churches and educational institutions to young men 
preparing for the ministry, have undoubtedly a great effect 
in filling the ranks of that profession with recruits; on the 
other hand, it is doubtful if young men, of great and noble 
parts, are likely thus to be attracted. And if they were 


MENTAL CULTURE. 


25 


attracted, there is generally no call for them; the crowds 
of less worthy applicants having already more than sup¬ 
plied the demand. 

Among the very many assisted as we have said, there 
were some, as Merton knew, who were truly worthy in 
every respect; but the society of the average ministerial 
student, he soon found, was in no wise calculated either 
to make him purer in heart, or more polished in mind. 
Ignoble in conduct, and indolent in studies, many of 
the biblical students appeared to Merton more fitted to 
carry the hod than to build the temple. He also saw 
that the very worst characters among them were frequently 
the most demonstrative in prayer and profession. 

At five o’clock on Sunday mornings, it was the custom 
for these students, aroused by some of the more active 
ones, to assemble for prayers. Great excitement would 
then prevail; much renewal of vows; great profession of 
faith and trust. At such times a student felt ashamed if 
he could not weep as much, and pray as loudly, as any 
other brother. Thus those of excitable temperament 
would shout, and sing, and pray, until they bordered on 
the very verge of frenzy. 

Merton himself was of a very nervous temperament, 
and religious disposition; and it was not to be expected 
that a person of such nature could be long exposed to 
such and similar forces, without being greatly affected. 
Thus it was that ’Merton, who had never known a day 
without praying to God, nor without having faith in him, 
was greatly influenced by those who made the profession 
of sanctification; and in due time he made such profession 
himself, and continued in it for .several years. Still he 
had every evidence for believing that it was not among 
those who made the greatest" professions, that the purest 
characters were found; nor among those who professed to 


26 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUT. 


be nearest to Jesus, was the young man found who lived 
most like Christ. In illustration of this, we will give the 
following from his own journal: 

“Cast night I was awakened out of sleep by the most 
melodious strains of music nearly under my window. I 
listened in rapt delight for a time, when I heard the splash¬ 
ing of water, and a female voice saying: ‘Goodness, 
gracious! That’s my new dress.’ The singing ceased, and 
the singers departed thinking they had been poorly paid 
for their intended kindness. 

“In the morning there was a very bad feeling manifested 
among the boys at the occurrence, and a determination 
expressed to discover the .student who had poured, from 
one of the dormitory windows, a bucket of dirty water 
upon the heedless heads of the unhappy serenaders. None 
appeared so much offended as a young man who was the 
son of a minister, and who professed sanctification. In 
giving his experience, he used to say that he wished to 
leave this wicked world to go and live with Jesus. In the 
course of a day or two, he was found to be the guilty 
party. He paid the young lady for a new dress; but the 
dirty act added to the feeling already prevailing against 
the theological students or the “bibs” as they were 
called.” 

At this time Merton was not without religious doubts 
and fears; but when thus troubled, he would fall on his 
knees in prayer, and there remain until such doubts and 
fears had passed away. The following extract, from his 
journal of this date, shows clearly enough the depth and 
earnestness of his religious life: “Glory be to thy name, 
dear Savior, for having taken me to be one of Thy sheep. 
O Lamb of God! may I never perish; but rule Thou in my 
soul every motive, every desire, and every action.” 

Nor was he less diligent in studies than devotional in 


MENTAL CULTURE. 


27 


life. He sought to excel in whatever he undertook; and 
his superior ability and scholarship were readily acknow¬ 
ledged. The following instance may be given in proof of 
this. They were reading Antigone, a Greek play of 
Sophocles; and it was the professor’s custom to translate 
for the class to-day what he would assign them as a lesson 
to-morrow. Merton protested against this custom, holding 
that it was ruinous for the professor thus to do the scholar’s 
work. One morning at the recitation the professor 
hesitated in his translation, and finally told the class that, 
the passage being very obscure, he would excuse them for 
the day. In an instant Merton thoughtlessly replied: 
“Why professor? I am sure the passage is easy enough.’’ 
With one voice the class cried out: “Read it, Merton. Get 
up, and read it. ’ ’ The professor blushed, but said nothing. 
Merton felt deeply the impropriety of his conduct, and 
longed to apologize, which he determined to do on the 
following day; but the next day the professor did not 
make his appearance; and Merton always thought that it 
was because of his deep mortification. On the second 
morning after the occurrence of the unpleasantness, as soon 
as he had opportunity, Merton arose in his seat, and 
apologized; for well he knew that although what he had 
said was true enough, his actions, as a student, were 
nevertheless very improper. The professor replied: “I 
recognized the impropriety of your conduct, Mr. Merton; 
but I willingly receive your apology. I also hope that in 
the future you will be as well prepared in your studies, as 
you have been in the past. ’ ’ 

The daily life of many of the ‘ ‘ bibs ’ ’ was a great sur¬ 
prise to Merton, who had hoped to find in them examples 
of pure and holy living; but with their character, as a class, 
110 person could be very favorably impressed. Among 
them there were not a few whose very exterior would 


28 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


condemn them anywhere, as worthless; and, taken as a 
body, they certainly did not appear to possess anything 
that should elevate them in the eyes of the -world, or make 
them ‘ ‘chosen vessels, ’ ’ as they professed to be. Some of 
them whose worthlessness could not be easily covered, 
sought to turn it to their own advantage, by saying that 
God chose the weaker things of this world to confound 
the mighty. 

It was the habit of the Greek professor to pray with 
his eyes wide open, whenever he led the devotional exer¬ 
cises in the chapel of the university. It was thought he 
had a good and sufficient reason for keeping his eyes open 
at such times; as Merton was told that at one time, when 
praying with his eyes closed, the professor’s head had come 
into collision with an old shoe which had been thrown 
with unerring aim by one of the mischievous boys. This 
professor was not a favorite in the school; just why, Mer¬ 
ton never learned. 

Merton was quite a regular attendant at the meetings 
for holiness, held at the residence of a Mrs. Horton. Some 
very striking experiences were there related. At one of 
these meetings a Miss Mitchell said: “ I see God face to 
face every day. He talks to me, and I talk to Him; and 
our conversation is full of heavenly things. ’ ’ Merton felt 
he saw an explanation of such experiences. The university 
was a great place for matrimonial alliances; and as there 
were many young men, either already preachers or .soon to 
be, attending these meetings for holiness, it was, he 
thought, natural that young ladies should seek to attract 
their attention, and win their esteem. Nor is it to be 
doubted that such public profession of superior holiness, 
would appear a great attraction to those who were to be 
“watchmen in Zion.” 

In the month of April, Mrs. Maggie Varley, the great 


MENTAL CULTURE. 


2 9 


revivalist, visited the university town. She labored hard 
to convert the young men; but the only effect of her work, 
as far as Merton could see, was the conversion, or fright¬ 
ening, of a few young girls. She had a good eye to 
business; for she sold her photographs to the “ brethren.” 
Being a very handsome woman, she found a ready market 
for them. 

This revival had no good effect on Merton. He felt it 
was largely a matter of business with the revivalist; and 
that very many of the ‘ ‘ brethren ’ ’ labored diligently, more 
for notoriety than for the love of souls. Yet at this time, 
Merton seemed to have been enjoying what is called a 
most glorious religious experience; in proof of which we 
copy the following from his journal of this date: 

‘ ‘ The blood of Jesus! how precious to know that it was 
shed for me! Blessed Savior! I give Thee glory and 
adoration; and if I had a thousand tongues, yet would I 
employ them all for Thee. Thou alone travellest in the 
greatness of Thy strength. Thou alone art the savior of 


men. 


CHAPTER III. 

FRUITS OF STUDY. 


The great business of a man is to improve his mind. As for 
all other things, they are no better than lifeless ashes and smoke. 

(.Marcus Aurelius .) 

yACATlON brought Merton but few idle moments. 

During this time he read, in Greek, Demosthenes on 
the Crown, Xenophon’s Memorabilia, and Sophocles’ Oed¬ 
ipus Tyrannus; and, in Latin, the last six books of Ver¬ 
gil’s Aeneid. 

From the fact that during this vacation he was offered 
the charge of a High-School, in a large and flourishing 
town, Merton was greatly encouraged to prosecute his 
studies with even more zeal than ever; but after fully con¬ 
sidering the matter, he determined not to accept the po¬ 
sition, since it would greatly delay the prosecution of his 
purpose, and perhaps turn him aside from it altogether. 

This year Merton’s room-mate was a young gentleman 
from Allentown. He had come to the school to prepare 
for the ministry. He was a most conscientious young man, 
and very sincere in his Christian life. In attending this 
school he had expected to find better means of obtaining 
purity of heart, and sound knowledge than he could find 
at home; but his treatment by the “brethren,” and their 
conduct in general, soon dissipated his hopes. “Here,” 
he said, “I felt sure I could know more of the height, and 
depth, and breadth of the love of God in Christ; but after 
a stay of about six months I find, if I stayed much longer, 
Mr. Merton, I should be a first-class infidel. The actions 
of the brethren have been so disgraceful, that I have lost 

most of the honest faith I brought here with me. God 

30 


FRUITS OF STUDY. 


31 


help me to get home safe, and I’ll promise not to come to 
this place again in a hurry, with the hope of receiving 
good from the society of young preachers! Look at what 
the Rev. Richter did to me! While I live I shall never 
forget the insulting act. For more than an hour I marched 
around in that cattle-show, carrying the tag which he had 
pinned to my back, and on which was written, ‘This bull 
for sale;’ and I should have continued walking with that 
insult there, were it not for that strange gentleman who 
asked me why I bore such a card. I was horrified at the 
discovery, and ashamed to be seen any. longer among the 
people; and all this shame and mortification came to me 
from the hands of a minister of the Gospel. I have had 
enough of young preachers. By the help of God I will look 
for better society.” 

Merton’s studies were bringing forth their fruit in him; 
but that fruit was the fruit of knowledge, of which if the 
student eats, his eyes will begin to open, his faith in dog¬ 
mas to waver, his doubts to increase; and he will be a sub¬ 
ject less and less affected by the innoculating virus of su¬ 
perstition. Such a mental state is well described in his 
journal of this date: “To-day my soul is sore, and my cry 
is going out to God: Hide not thyself for ever. O Lord, 
in thy mercy arise, and dispel the gloom; bind up Thou 
the broken-hearted. 

“About a week ago I passed anight all in trouble and 
darkness. Sleep forsook my eyelids. I lay on my pillow 
from about half-past nine o’clock at night, till four in the 
morning, without slumber. I endured unspeakable dis¬ 
tress of soul; and though I prayed continually that God 
would give me rest, my prayers seemed vain. I was in 
black despair. Last night I had a worse time, if possible. 
I sought slumber in vain tilbmidnight, when I came out, 
and prayed to God to remove the agony of mind I was 


32 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


suffering. I seemed to be afraid of disease and death, and 
cried in the bitterness of my soul that God might show me 
the cause. A thousand fears seemed to flit through my 
mind; and my prayer has been, and still is, Lord be mer¬ 
ciful to me.” We copy these words because of their deep 
import. The state of mind spoken of induced such physical 
pain, and mental misery as made Merton’s life for years 
almost unbearable. But he might have given us the reason 
for such a state. He might have written that it arose from 
the conscious conflict of reason with the superstition taught 
in the name of religion; and that its more immediate cause 
had been the reading of the posthumous essays of J. Stuart 
Mill, and other similar religio-philosophical writings. The 
argument of the great and truth-loving Mill had been too 
much for Merton. The taste for such writings once hav¬ 
ing been established, Merton’s mind could find no rest 
until he had read almost everything he could find, bear¬ 
ing on the fundamentals of Christianity. Never was ground 
held more tenaciously; never was there a more unwilling 
tenant ousted; but, still, little by little was Merton obliged 
to surrender much that he had been accustomed to regard 
as essentials of Christian faith, and necessary to eternal 
life. This he had to do as reason forced the changes upon 
him. The fact also that from this date he made much less 
frequent entries in his journal, proves the change which 
was slowly but surely coming over him. He began to un¬ 
derstand that states of mind, or experience, may result 
from faith in things that do not exist. A son rejoices in 
the hourly expectation of meeting his mother, although, 
unknown to him, she died yesterday while on her journey. 
Her death did not lessen his conscious joy, although the 
form which he was momentarily expecting to gladden his 
heart, was now cold in the embrace of death. His joy 
arose, not from the fact of his mother’s existence, but from 


FRUITS OF STUDY. 


33 


his faith in that existence,—in other words, from faith in 
something which he supposed had an existence, but which 
in reality had not. So with the Christian,—his ecstasy 
arising from belief in certain Christian teachings, is no 
proof that such teachings have any basis in reality. They 
may be dead, as the mother, though he rejoices in his be¬ 
lief that they are alive. So great is the faith of the sincere 
Mohammedan in Mahomet, as the great prophet of God, 
that his mind frequently enters into a state of ecstasy or 
even frenzy; so also is it with the Christian who, in a sim¬ 
ilar manner, trusts to Christ. Each declares that there is 
no other name given whereby a man may be saved; and 
each refuses to admit that the other can have salvation 
through the name in which he trusts. But it makes no 
difference to their happiness, for the reason, as we have 
seen, that a man may be as happy from hoping in a non¬ 
existent thing, as in something so firmly established as the 
everlasting hills. 

Man’s religious principles are in general the slowly de¬ 
veloped results of his early influences. During childhood 
Merton had lived in a deeply religious atmosphere; and, 
in due time, his imaginative nature seemed in touch with 
the spirit-world. The fact that that world was unknown 
to him, and the barriers separating the known from the 
unknown, impassable, could not deter him, in his waking 
hours, from forming conclusions concerning it and its in¬ 
habitants; nor, in his sleep, from mingling in their society. 
Thus when about nine years old Merton dreamt one night 
that father and mother, with the whole family, were seat¬ 
ed around the fire. The father was telling Stories, as was 
his custom, when some one was heard walking in the cham¬ 
ber above. They were all greatly surprised, and conclud¬ 
ed, of course, that it was a, spirit. In a short time steps 
were heard coming down the long stairway; and in a minute 

3 


34 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL,. 


more, they beheld a beautiful spirit-child standing beside 
them. He said he had come from heaven, and that he 
wished one of them to accompany him. It was agreed that 
Merton should go. The beautiful spirit walked before him 
for sometime, when he seized, and bore Merton into space, 
finally setting him down amidst a dazzling throng sur¬ 
rounding the throne of God, and praising Him who sat 
thereon. Here Merton was permitted to remain for some 
time, until he was so delighted with the many attractions 
of the beautiful place, that he wished to abide there; but 
the spirit was commanded to take and bear him away to 
the lower regions, that he might see himself the torments 
of the damned. In a twinkling they were whirling through 
space, and soon found themselves at the massive .gates of 
the infernal regions. The doors were thrown open, and 
they were admitted. Here was every conceivable kind ot 
torment which infinite power and skill could contrive. 
Wherever they looked were devils yelling, fires raging, 
and the lost groaning. Thousands of little dog-like fiends 
went hither and thither, snarling and biting; and Merton 
thought their bite was the bite of eternal death. Into the 
wound they made, they injected a poison which passed 
through and through the being bitten, vitiating more and 
more his nature, and leaving him irretrievably lost. Mer¬ 
ton trembled; but the spirit said: “Stay near me, and they 
can not reach you.” 

Having seen the woes of the lost, burning in the fire 
that is never quenched, once more the gates of hell flew 
open; and Merton and the angel were rushing through 
space. Again they stood in the presence of God. Here 
Merton wished to remain forever; but God said: “It is 
not yet time; take him whence he came; let him finish the 
work I have given him to do.” Unwilling as Merton was, 
he was taken by the spirit, and borne to his father’s house. 


fruits of study. 


35 


At another time he dreamt he met the Devil, who chal¬ 
lenged him to wrestle. At this time Merton was about fif¬ 
teen years old, and enjoyed wrestling very much, and was 
considered very expert at it. Merton accepted his chal¬ 
lenge, and soon threw him very heavily. This he repeated 
several times, when the Devil said to Merton: “You are 
a coward, nevertheless; why don’t you take out those 
things you have in your pocket?” In his dream Merton 
had in his pocket a prayer-book and a Bible; and these he 
was unwilling at first to take out. Finally he said: “Al¬ 
though it is against my principles to wrestle without the 
prayer-book and Bible, still I am quite satisfied I can throw 
you with or without them; so to oblige you I will take 
them out.” 

No sooner had he taken them out than the Devil seized, 
and threw him so violently, that his very life seemed leav¬ 
ing him. He awoke in such screams that brought his fath¬ 
er, who was some time before he succeeded in calming him. 
His nervous shock was a very severe one. 

Again, when about sixteen, he dreamt that the Judg¬ 
ment-day had come. All mankind were passing, one by 
one, over a scales. Those who brought down the scales, 
went to the right; those who could not, went to the left. 
The pallid looks and trembling forms of the countless hosts 
awaiting their turns, revealed too plainly the awful anxiety 
pervading the silent breasts of all. Now had come the long 
expected moment for the final answer to the well known 
lines: 

“Where shall I find my destined place? 

Shall I my everlasting days 
With fiends or angels spend? 

Who can resolve the doubt 
That tears my anxious breast? 

Shall I be with the damned cast out 
Or numbered with the blest?” 


36 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUt. 


The moments seemed years. Soon, however, Merton’s 
fate had been decided; and he was praising God for being 
‘ ‘numbered with- the blest. ’ ’ 

Such dreams show to a certainty the food Merton had 
been fed on, the books he had read, his mental state, and 
his deeply religious nature. It is a pity such books are 
ever printed. They are a curse to those who read them. 

Merton found only one thing painful to him in the uni¬ 
versity. The students had a custom of ‘ ‘sloping’ ’ en masse, 
if the professor should be a few seconds late in coming in¬ 
to the recitation-room. By “sloping” is meant, leaving 
the room in a body, precisely as the hour for recitation 
arrives. By so doing the students could not have a new 
lesson assigned, and therefore would escape so much study. 
Against the practice of “sloping,” Merton protested from 
the beginning. He felt every lesson missed was a loss to 
him, and that the professor owed him the recitation. He 
therefore would not leave, but await the professor’s ar¬ 
rival. This brought the ire of the class down on Merton, 
and frequent threats of vengeance. One morning as he was 
passing under the university porch, coming from a recita¬ 
tion in French, which the class.had “sloped,”he narrowly 
escaped a bucket of water thrown from the window above, 
with the purpose of giving him a bath, because he would 
not “slope” with the other members of the class. After 
this the boys found him more obdurate than ever. It was 
not the way to gain their end. Merton held his own, and 
finally brought “sloping” into disfavor. The boys liked 
him the better in the end for what he did; although it 
seemed a little hard for him at first. He was very desirous 
of gaining the friendship of his class; but he could not 
think it right to possess that friendship, at the expense of 
losing his recitations. Some of his class tried, in every 
way, to make things as disagreeable for him as possible; 


FRUITS OF STUDY. 


37 


and none persecuted him so bitterly as the ministerial stu¬ 
dents. 

Vacation had come again; but during those holidays 
Merton not only prepared himself thoroughly in the vaca¬ 
tion work assigned by the university; but in addition read, 
in Latin, most of the odes of Horace, and Sallust’s Cata¬ 
lina, and his War of Rome with Jugurtha. For the va¬ 
cation of the third year, he set himself to master as much 
as possible of the Hebrew language; and so arduously did 
he study it, that at the end of this vacation he had almost 
finished Arnold’s First Hebrew Book; and on his return, 
the following autumn, to the university, he was put into 
the Hebrew class of the second year. 

It was now that Merton preached for the first time, 
having received a pressing invitation from the minister in 
charge of the church. His sermon was delivered July 19th, 
and based on /. Gal. i. 8. Previous to delivering this ser¬ 
mon, he had spent much time in prayer. The sermon was 
well received; and after that his services were constantly 
sought. 

About this time he received a letter from his friend, 
and college chum, R. B. Faye, who had been engaged in 
the active work of the ministry for some years; but at pres¬ 
ent was taking a course at the university, as a conference 
student. Merton and Mr. Faye confided to each other their 
inmost secrets. The religious doubts and fears of each were 
not unknown to the other. ‘ ‘Oh, friend Merton! ” he wrote, 
“I have to inform you that my darling Lena is dead. Yes, 
dead, dead! My brightest earthly hopes are all crushed 
and withered. She was not only highly educated and ac¬ 
complished, but naturally pure, virtuous, modest, gentle, 
and loving.” 

It is indirectly to the death of this excellent young lady, 
that Merton attributed, to no small degree, the great change 


33 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


that, a few years after, passed over the religious belief of 
this friend. Feeling his ignorance of those matters which 
ministers in general affirm as most certainly known, Mr. 
Faye determined on a course of post-graduate study. Fie 
went to Breslau, Germany, where he continued at work 
two years. He then returned, but not to preach. The re¬ 
sult of his work so increased his conscious ignorance, that 
he resolved to assert no more, as known and true, what 
now he clearly saw was unknown and unreasonable. He 
took up the work of teaching, and, had he lived, would 
have become a well known educator. He died suddenly 
while experimenting at the laboratory of the college where 
he was teaching. He left behind him a widow and one or 
two little children. He was a hard-working student, a 
good man, and a true friend. He was the most intimate 
companion Merton ever had among all his college acquaint¬ 
ances; and he deeply regretted his death. 

It is quite generally supposed that great affliction and 
sorrow tend to soften, and increase the religious spirit of the 
.sufferer; but we have not found it so. On the contrary, 
we believe that it tends to increase the questioning spirit, 
and to make of the sufferer a more matter-of-fact man. 

On Merton’s return to the university, he chose the lake 
route. On board the steamboat there happened to be among 
the passengers an old gentleman by the name of Taggart. 
He had with him a charming and beautiful girl with whom 
Merton soon became well acquainted. It was through her 
that he was introduced to her father, who Merton discov¬ 
ered was, in popular language, an infidel. They frequent¬ 
ly conversed on religious topics, at which times Merton 
would press upon him what he regarded as the most con¬ 
vincing proof of the deity of Christ. Having failed to satis¬ 
fy his inquiring mind by argument, Merton spoke to him 
of the great pleasure derived from the feeling that God was 


FRUITS OF STUDY. 


39 


our Father. To this he replied, “My dear sir! I never take 
a morsel of food, without thanking Him from whom all 
things come. That He is the Father of all, I doubt not; 
that I am his child, I confidently believe. ’ * 

Here was a man called an infidel who Merton was forced 
to admit, had a faith far deeper, and a trust more complete 
than he, although a child of the orthodox faith. The know¬ 
ledge of this fact set Merton to thinking, which in due time 
brought forth its abundant fruit. 

The year now opening was to be his last at the college 
of arts; he was a member of the senior class. At such times 
young men’s expectations are not so great as in preceding 
years. Fields at a distance look green; distance lends en¬ 
chantment, distorts the reality, hike that of others, Mer¬ 
ton’s mind was tossed hither and thither, on the tempest 
of uncertainty. He was in the valley of indecision. At this 
time he could have well subscribed to the well known words 
of Vergil: 

‘ 4 Rerumque igziarus, imagine gaudet. * ’ 

There were very many obscure paths, but none so plain 
that he, a way-faring man, might not err therein. 

As representing his religious faith at this time, we will 
quote from what Merton wrote, at this date, in his auto¬ 
graph album: 

‘Rerumque ignarus, imagine gaudet.’ 

And can the Infinite be known? 

Is God the Father, God the Son? 

Him whom no eyes have ever seen, whose fiat is the law, 

Jehovah, Lord, God without end, man manifested saw! 

What a conflict of words, unintelligible surds! 

Who can extract their root? 

More than reason affords, or history records, 

Is the mystery of God’s own book. 

Every line of this original poem reveals deep doubt, a 
doubt ever widening and deepening as the consciousness 


40 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUT. 


grew in him, that reason and reason alone must be the ul¬ 
timate judge in all things; and that whatever teachings did 
violence to reason, should not be accepted as true elements 
of faith. That not a few dogmas of Christianity did vio¬ 
lence to reason, contradicted one another, and all ideas of 
the justice and goodness of God, Merton could not for one 
moment doubt. 

Merton had now finished the course of study for the de¬ 
gree of B. A., and that, too, with great distinction; for of the 
many young men who had been contending with him for 
the gold medal, not one remained at the beginning of the 
senior year: he had outrun them all in the race. But his 
philosophical and scientific studies had served greatly to 
weaken his faith which once could receive the most un¬ 
reasonable assertions, though based on the most incredible 
testimony. This effect is clearly manifested in a poem com¬ 
posed by Merton at that time, and with which we close this 
chapter. We give the poem not for its merit, but to illus¬ 
trate the effect on Merton’s mind of philosophical and scien¬ 
tific studies: 

Now rest my soul. Where wouldst thou go? 

I’d question thee of worlds unknown. 

Why sayest thou, ‘let me alone, 

I'm doomed to linger here below? ’ 

The Hand that guides the starry host, 

And feeds for aye the cosmic flame, 

That gives to great and small a name, 

That moveth all and loveth most,— 

vVhence came that Hand, if such there be? 

What powers produced the awful Cause? 

What are, who framed, the cosmic laws? 

Would’st thou by silence silence me? 

The link that binds thee to the sky, 

In substance what, in strength how great? 

When was it wrought? and why create 
A link whose substance some deny? 


FRUITS OF STUDY. 


41 


Still more I ask: whence comest thou? 

Now, hold thy peace; I question fair. 

If able, unto me declare 

Where first thou dwelt, where dwellest now. 

A friend sincere I’ve always been, 

Would gratify thy least desire; 

Yet know not I if earth or file 
Thou art; indeed, if anything. 

I do not know thee who thou art, 

And more, I’m ignorant of myself; 

Of things below, e’en though but pelf, 
Uncertain, too; yet love to mark— 

Th’ unfolding flower, the budding tree, 

The march of time, th’ expanding soul, 

The atom, molecule, the whole, 

E’en though tliou ne’er canst answer me. 


CHAPTER IV. 


CREDULITY. 


Wisdom and knowledge shall be the stability of thy times. 


[Isaiah.) 


HE summer in which he took his first degree in science 



and arts, Merton passed with his mother and young¬ 
est brother. During this time Merton was frequently with 
his brother’s minister, the Rev. Mr. Tubbs, whose sermons 
appealed more to the reason than to the feelings. Many of 
Mr. Tubbs’ people were displeased, and Merton wondered 
not; for of those who fill the churches, but few are they 
who relish reason. One said, “There is no food to be had 
in this church now. ” Said another, “He looks for all the 
world like an actor. If he has not missed his calling, then 
I am no judge of human nature.’’ 

“I can not help thinking,’’ said Mr. Tubbs one day, 

‘ ‘that I have some friends in this church; but I do not think, 
Mr. Merton, that I have ever preached a sermon in this 
place to what might be called an appreciative audience. ’ ’ 

Merton replied that he was sorry to hear what Mr. 
Tubbs had said; and asked if the elder was not on friendly 
terms with him. 

“The elder,” said Mr. Tubbs, “is outwardly a profes¬ 
sor of sanctification; but in his heart, Mr. Merton, he is an 
infidel.” 

Shortly after Merton’s arrival the quarterly meeting of 
the church was held. The question came up whether or 
not Mr. Tubbs should be invited to return another year. 
At the first opportunity Father Sanctity arose, and said: 
“I have a large class, which as all know is the backbone 
of the church; and my class to a man is opposed to Mr. 
Tubbs’ return. They know that Mr. Tubbs can not feed 
them with Gospel truth. They ask wheat, and receive 


credulity. 


43 


chaff; they ask a fish, and receive a stone. I give my 
warning voice here in this meeting against inviting Mr. 
Tubbs to return here another year. Do so, brethren, and 
you do so at your own peril. I have been a Methodist all 
my life, and I know what Methodism is, and I know that 
Mr. Tubbs’ new-fangled notions are not the good old-fash¬ 
ioned Methodism that I have been used to, and I want 
none of it. These are my sentiments and the sentiments of 
my class. ’ ’ 

There were several other class-leaders present who felt 
highly offended at the manner in which Father Sanctity 
had extolled himself and his class. Seeing how their feel¬ 
ings were hurt, Merton arose, and said that Father Sanc¬ 
tity should not be misunderstood; that none better than 
Father Sanctity knew that the church did not stand on one 
man or one class; that Father Sanctity was a hard-working 
member of the church, and, as such, had a right to be 
heard; but that neither Father Sanctity nor his class could 
suppose that their judgment should overrule the combined 
judgment of the rest. Merton said that his own opinion 
was, that Mr. Tubbs should be invited to return to them 
another year; that it was desirable for Mr. Tubbs’ future 
success, and that it was far from certain that any other man 
whom they might have in his place, would be any more 
acceptable to the people of Eudoxia. For this speech 
Father Sanctity could never forgive Merton. At the first 
prayer-meeting Merton attended on his return from school 
the next year, he saw many familiar faces. Father Sanctity 
was there, and was even invited by the Rev. Mr. Tubbs to 
make the closing prayer. He did so in a most familiar, 
boisterous manner. He prayed for a heart of love to God 
and man; a heart forgiving and kind; a heart at peace with 
the world and its God; a heart into which malice should 
never enter; a heart like unto the heart of Christ. His pe- 


44 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUT. 


titions were in general such as the pure-minded Marcus 
Aurelius might have made, and every child of man wish 
granted. The people having been dismissed, there was a 
general shaking of hands. Merton approached Father Sanc¬ 
tity, and offered him his hand. He refused to take it, say¬ 
ing Merton had hurt him the preceding year. Merton told 
him he was shocked at him, at the mockery of his prayer, 
and advised him to go home, enter his secret chamber, 
and come out no more until he had a better heart. 

Here Merton had the most certain proof that man may 
use the words of prayer, yet never pray; that his lips may 
say, “the Ford be with you,” while in his heart he may 
wish that you be possessed of a demon. Of this fact he be¬ 
came more and more convinced, as he watched more and 
more the lives of those who prayed. This knowledge in¬ 
creased the doubts already existing in his breast, and made 
him begin a more searching investigation of the fundamen¬ 
tals of Christianity. He felt more and more the uncertain¬ 
ty of things received without question, and determined not 
to enter on the work of the ministry, until he sought and 
obtained more information. He therefore made up his mind 
to complete a theological course. By so doing he felt sure 
he should get more light on those matters which now were 
so obscure to him. Surely, he thqught, men whose sole 
work it is to teach theology, must know more than all others 
about the Being of whom they speak. So Merton thought, 
but so he found was not the case. Rather did he find in 
theology a mass of jarring words, and of unreasonable and 
conflicting statements; and in theologians, the bitterest an¬ 
tagonism to one another, and a general and profound ig¬ 
norance concerning the subjects of which they speak. And 
after long continued and most earnest study, through the 
best and richest years of his life, Merton became convinced 
that theologians, as a class, are very fitly characterized by 


CREDULITY. 


45 


the words of Democritus: 

6(T<tov aXXotoi p-ertyw, t6<xov &p <x<j)iav aiel 
Kal t6 (popveiv aWoia irapiaraTO — 

By-as much as they differ in nature, 

Do they always differ in opinion. 

The truth of these words may be doubted, but they can 
be doubted only by him who has not sufficiently investi¬ 
gated the subject. Merton was now again hard at work, 
studying for his degree in divinity. He found a great 
change from the atmosphere of a scientific school to that 
of a theological college. Everything was different. No 
more free discussion; no more .study of nature; no 
more experimental inquiry. Even the very countenances 
of the professors had an appearance altogether different 
from that of teachers with souls at liberty to seek and speak 
the truth. They seemed all to have been cast in the same 
mold; and, as birds in a cage, all to act as if conscious of 
the narrow limits within which they were at liberty to 
move. Merton often thought, however, that as the captive 
bird, long'confined, loses the power of flight; so, perhaps, 
those professors, having been so long schooled to act and 
teach under the restraint of their dogmas, may have been 
unconscious of their imprisonment, and even of the terrible 
ecclesiastical threat which always hung over them—‘ ‘thus 
far shalt thou go and no farther, and here shall thy proud 
search after the truth be stayed. ’ ’ Merton clearly perceived 
that every theological professor had his premises provided 
him. With these he might labor to instruct his students, 
deducing such conclusions as seemed best to him, or as 
were generally drawn; but he would not dare question the 
premises, nor materially differ from other teachers, in the 
conclusions he arrived at. Should he be rash enough to 
attempt this, he would certainly lose his chair, and per. 
haps be exposed to want; and the student who should at- 


4 6 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUF. 


tempt it, would be advised to leave the school, as an unfit 
person to lead the flock of Christ. Students would often 
question among themselves the truth of this or of that dog¬ 
ma, or the genuineness of their episcopate; but they would 
not dare express such thoughts before their professors, nor 
too freely in the presence of one another. Should they do so, 
they would be told that such questions are asked by the 
infidel only, and that with such a person there was no time 
to waste in that school. Days, weeks, months, years might 
be spent in teaching what hymns to have sung, how the 
scriptures should be read, how best to raise money for parish 
expenses, how to prepare and deliver sermons, how to con¬ 
duct prayer-meetings, how to work up revivals, how to in¬ 
tone, what vestments to wear, the origin of the creeds, the 
collects, or the rubrics; but not a moment to satisfactory 
inquiry into the nature of the foundation upon which all 
this super-incumbent, ecclesiastical structure is said to be 
founded. Still, the air of the school seemed healthier to 
Merton than that of most others; and the lectures of the 
professors, less conventional, and more full of research, 
than that of the average minister. The truth is that the 
professors under whom Merton sat, at this time, were not 
so creed-bound as such teachers in general; for some of 
them had imbibed deeply from the fountains of German 
rationalism, and had already acquired the name of being 
skeptically inclined. The lectures of the professor of sys¬ 
tematic theology, if logically construed, would leave noth¬ 
ing standing of dogmatical Christianity; and many of the 
visiting lecturers taught what, in the parish minister, would 
be called rank infidelity. Merton often noticed that after 
having battered the walls upon which they stood, they 
would, just before leaving the rostrum, carefully patch up 
the breaks they had made, lest they might be overwhelmed 
in their temple’s destruction; qr lest the ecclesiastical pow- 


CREDULITY. 


47 


ers might seize, and dethrone them from their exalted po¬ 
sition. Especially liberal in his exegesis, was the professor 
of Hebrew. His sharp shears so pruned the Old Testament, 
that in Merton’s judgment, not much of the Jewish tree re¬ 
mained; and at the fall of every branch, the professor would 
smile from a sense of satisfaction, as Merton thought, in 
having pruned a tree whose branches served as the resort 
of so many birds of prey. Among the many preparing for the 
ministry, was a young man named Pascoe. In proof of the 
untrustworthiness of “calls” in general, we here give what 
Mr. Pascoe considered the indubitable signs of his “call:” 

“I was a superintendent of a mine in England, when I 
felt my ‘call’; but, like Gideon of old, I wished a positive 
sign from God. I took a sample of ore, divided it into two 
equal portions, kept one for myself, and sent the other to a 
regular assayist. Not understanding the work of assaying, 
I promised God that if I determined correctly the percent¬ 
age of metal in the ore, I would regard it as a positive sign 
that I was called to the work of the ministry. In due time 
I was surprised to know that the result of my assay agreed 
exactly with that of the regular assayist. For this I thanked 
God; but, still, I was undecided. Again I asked for a sign. 
I took some more ore, and, as before, divided it into two 
equal portions, keeping one myself, and sending the other 
to the assayist. This time I promised God that if I could 
find no metal in the ore as the result of my assay, I would 
not doubt that He had called me to preach the everlasting 
Gospel of the Son of God. To my great surprise, although 
the assayist found the same percentage of metal as be¬ 
fore, I could not find even a trace. I thanked God for such 
a miraculous manifestation of his will concerning me, 
and from that time I have not doubted my ‘call.’ At 
the same time I was engaged to be married to a beautiful 
and accomplished young lady, who on finding my determi¬ 
nation to enter the ministry, refused to become my wife. I 
was pained to give her up; but she drifted away with the 


48 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUI*. 


world, while I am still clinging to the cross. Do you not 
think, Bro. Merton, that I had a wonderful experience ? ” 

“ However unfounded the reasons for a person’s rejoic¬ 
ing may be, Mr. Pascoe, it is almost a pity to disturb his 
pleasant imaginations ; but I am bound to confess that I 
have but little faith in the miraculous nature of your ‘ call.’ 
As water will seek the lowest level, so must I always seek 
the most natural explanation of whatever occurs. I believe, 
if every one did this, there would be acknowledged no in¬ 
terference with the ordinary operations of nature. As I 
have never seen nor heard sufficient evidence for the 
acknowledgment of the occurrence of miracles in the past, 
so in your case I see nothing which I could not more reason¬ 
ably explain without a miracle than with it. Besides, if you 
had a right to demand a miracle in proof of your mission, 
which you must confess is a very small matter, I certainly 
have a right to demand one in proof that the regular laws 
of nature have been violated, which we both must admit 
would be a stupendous thing to happen. As you can not 
give me such proof, I do not see how, as a reasonable man, 
I can believe that God gave you a miraculous sign. It 
seems to me it takes a miracle to prove a miracle, and that ? 
too, without end; and this fact, it seems to me, makes belief 
in miracles impossible. In your case I find it much easier 
to suppose, first, that the crucible leaked, or, second, that 
the ore was non metallic, than in the occurrence of a 
miracle. Again, you must have been greatly excited, be¬ 
lieving as you did in the visible interference of the hand of 
God. This itself would make you a very unsafe witness to 
testify in matters which, because of their very nature, de¬ 
mand the coolest reason, and most critical judgment. Lastly, 
by your own account, you were not a skilled assayist. Even 
in a common court of law, in proof of every-day occur¬ 
rences, your testimony would be inadmissible, having ad* 


CREDULITY. 


49 


mitted your own incompetency. What witness can testify 
about matters of which he himself admits his ignorance ? I 
can not receive your testimony concerning the percentage 
of metal, as proving your case. I must conclude that you 
were deceived as to what you supposed was a miracle. It 
seems to me, to believe that in ydur case there was a miracle 
performed, would be like a man attempting to create a god 
to do a piece of work which a mouse could easily accom¬ 
plish. No man should look to a miracle for the explanation 
of an occurrence which obviously offers a more ready ex¬ 
planation. Still, the proof you give for your miracle, is 
much superior to that for miracles in general, since it is given 
me at first hand, and by a man I know." 

Mr. Gottlieb was the superintendent of the Methodist 
Sunday-school in Euphronia. Merton, while at his house one 
evening, was told the following in proof of miraculous 
interferences: “ Not long ago,” he said, “ I lost my place 
on the New York Exchange. I tried every honest means, 
to get back, but my enemies were too powerful for me. My 
family, used to luxury, was now threatened with want. In 
this state I sent a letter to one of the most prominent mem¬ 
bers, who, I knew, if he would, could have me re-instated in 
my former position. He answered my letter, saying: ‘ Ask 
me no favors; I have done with you. Never! never! never! 
shall you get back again, if I have the power to keep you 
out.’ The letter gave me an indescribable feeling. I felt 
ruined, or as one who had lost all hope. With penury and 
disgrace staring me in the face, at\d the thought of a ruined 
family breaking my heart, I suddenly thought of my God. 
I went to the blessed book, opened its pages at random; and 
the first text l saw, was: ‘ Behold, I have set before thee an 
open door, and no man can shut it.’ I took some letter-pa¬ 
per, wrote down the promise, and sent it to the man who 
before had answered me so cruelly. I waited some time, 


50 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUR. 


fully believing that God would send his angel, and open 
the door, no matter how great the stone they had rolled 
against it. God kept his promise with me, Mr. Merton. In 
a short time I was back again in my old place; and, as far 
as the happiness of my family was concerned, I once more 
felt my feet upon a rock. From that time, Mr. Merton, I 
have never been able to doubt the Lord. He makes a way 
for his people, even though it be through the Red Sea.” 

Merton greatly wondered why a man of Mr. Gottlieb’s 
intelligence, should seek a miracle, a supernatural cause, 
for the explanation of something the most natural in the 
world. Even were it true that without the words or pro¬ 
mises sent to the person, Mr. Gottlieb would never have 
had his old place again, still it does not follow that a mira¬ 
cle was performed. On reading the words it would be but 
natural for his enemy to think, and, perhaps, reflect; and 
partly from the sense of justice, and partly from the feeling 
of pity, to relent, and move to restore the offending party. 
And, again, when we know that the mind of the most re¬ 
lentless enemy is subject to change, we should seek an ex¬ 
planation of such restoration here, a natural cause, rather 
than in something subversive of the order of nature, a su¬ 
pernatural cause. It is wonderful on what flimsy evidence 
the credulous-minded man admits the occurrence of mira¬ 
cles; but the reasonable man can not easily be induced to 
look beyond nature, as he knows it, for the explanation of 
things occurring in nature. Mr. Gottlieb had a very pleas¬ 
ant home, and quite a refined family; but very probably, 
had he given less attention to making corners in wheat, 
and gambling on Wall street, thus increasing the poor 
man’s sweat, and decreasing his bread; and more attention 
to the proper cultivation of his intellect, he would have been 
able to find, even in his own village, a ready explanation 
of all that had occurred, and thus saved himself the trouble 


CREDULITY. 


51 


of going beyond the stars for it. But living in a world 
where superstition is planted in hot-beds, and cultivated 
with the most assiduous care, it is hard to free the uncul¬ 
tivated mind from the bands with which he is bound; even 
when you attempt to do so, you are in danger of being 
charged with atheism or infidelity. 

Merton thought the country surrounding the theolog¬ 
ical school a most charming one; that no place of learning 
could have had a more delightful situation. It was sur¬ 
rounded with beautiful grounds covered with stately trees, 
among which stood the charming homes of the different 
professors whose work it was to teach the students the prin¬ 
ciples of their faith. Often would Merton saunter through 
those beautiful grounds, admiring the tall chestnut trees, 
the shady beech, the beautiful hickory, the graceful ma¬ 
ple, and the noble oak; and when admiring them, their 
beauty and grandeur seemed to increase. There seems to 
be a bond of sympathy running through the whole crea¬ 
tion. Often in his gloomy hours could Merton imagine 
that he heard the pine-tree groan; and when his heart was 
full of pleasure, he could not fail to see expand, as if with 
joy, the leafy branches of the beautiful maple, nor hear the 
laugh of the morning-glories. And why should this not be 
so? Are we not all children of the same mother, earth? 
And are we not all alike hushed to sleep on the same breast 
that nursed our life? Merton might well have felt his unity 
with nature, and nature’s unity with him. Nor could he 
in those walks fail to think of the future. The time and 
place were fitting contemplation. “Building castles in 
the air, ’ ’ is all many have to live on; and while he had even 
then no small pleasure in acquiring knowledge, and in¬ 
creasing his information, he could still think of a time 
when he should be settled in life’s work, building up on 
earth the kingdom of God the Father. His study-room was 


52 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


not a mansion. No lawns nor beautiful walks surrounded 
his humble dwelling-place; but peace reigned within and 
without, and the smile of his God was upon him. His 
heart was the temple of the Father, who was as near to 
him as to wrestling Jacob, or royal David; and his life was 
a unity of experience and hope. The aspect of the outer 
world seems determined by the state of the world within. 
To the heart contented and happy, all nature appears in 
festive attire; to the heart despairing and broken, she ap¬ 
pears in mourning weecjs. Thus it was with Merton: with 
all his doubts and fears he saw the image of God reflected 
in, to him, the living world; and he rejoiced in the thought 
of the nearness and fatherhood of God. Between nature 
and God, Merton could find no strife; for to him the for¬ 
mer was but the visible manifestation of the invisible Deity. 
Conformity to the laws of nature was to him the highest 
evidence of conformity to the will of God; and this is most 
certainly true. As Schiller says: 

“Wohl weiss .ich dass man Gott nicht dient, wenn man die 
Ordnung der Natur verlaesst.—Well do I know that man can not 
serve God, and depart, at the same time, from Natur ’s order.” 

{Mary Stuart , II. 2.) 


CHAPTER V. 

KNOWLEDGE AND BELIEF. 

When you hear a discourse, make your understanding keep 
pace with it; and reach as far as you can into events and their 
causes. (Marcus Aurelius .) 

jyjERTON was now pursuing the studies of the last year 
in the divinity school. In the autumn of this year, 
he made a visit to the great city. Having found a con¬ 
spicuous place, he watched the moving mass of people 
coming out of the cars. What a sight! There a bridal couple 
making a marriage tour, with countenances radiant with 
pleasure; here a pale face, with sunken eyes, and emacia¬ 
ted form, finding her way to the grave, chased by Con¬ 
sumption ; there the riches of Dives, here the poverty of 
Lazarus; there the revelry of Belshazzar the king, here the 
mourning of the widow of Nain. As Merton reflected on 
these different phases of human life, he thought how fre¬ 
quently they are all experienced by the one human soul. 
As the gamut contains all the notes of the scale, so some 
men seem to experience every varied phase of human life, 
from the highest point of power to the lowest depths of 
degradation and woe. 

Merton spent some time in the city, and while there 
saw such marks of poverty as he never before had seen, 
and never afterwards forgot. The sight of poverty and 
want was always most painful to him; and no greater pain 
could he ever experience than that which he sometimes 
felt, when obliged to be dead to an appeal for aid. 

At the beginning of the school year, Merton had also 
taken a trip by boat from Boston to New York; and when 
coming up the Sound, he was so struck with the solemn 


54 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


grandeur of-the scenery, that he could not help soliloquiz¬ 
ing: “How many, happy as we, have gazed on this immor¬ 
tal current, \vho now have ceased to be remembered for¬ 
ever! How many hands, once clasped in love or prayer, 
are now folded, in the stillness of death, across the silent 
breasts lying along the shore of this unmindful stream! It 
reveals no secrets, tells no tales, represents no parting 
scenes, pictures no bosoms trembling with pleasure, nor 
paints a soul engulfed in woe; but heedless and unmind¬ 
ful, it keeps on its course amid all the changing scenes of 
life. Neither smiles nor tears; neither nuptial songs nor 
funeral dirge; neither the cry of joy that a child is born, 
nor the wail of despair that a loved one is dead, can move 
the heart of this mighty monarch, this conqueror of time. 
Where are the many tribes of men that, one after another, 
in the ages gone by, have wandered up and down these 
shores? Where are the many friends, once so dear to us, 
who have disappeared in the darkness that enshrouds so 
impenetrably the whole world? Some small memento, 
worthless in itself perhaps, but priceless to us, is all that 
now remains to remind us of their love, or that they once 
did live. We strain our sight with gazing, we pain the 
ear with listening, we break our hearts at waiting, yet they 
come not; ‘till the heavens be no more, they shall not 
awake, nor be raised out of their sleep. ’ Toudly as we may 
pray, and confidently as we may believe, the question, 
where are they, still remains unanswered and unanswer¬ 
able; and the only solution of the mysterious problem of 
immortality, seems necessarily postponed till our death. 
This, indeed, soon comes. As all streams hasten to the 
sea, there to be swallowed up in its all-engulfing waters; 
thus the ever flowing flood of time carries us onward, till 
we too are lost in the unfathomable ocean of oblivion. But 
how few have reason to hope for life beyond the grave, ac- 


KNOWLEDGE AND BELIEF. 


55 


cording to the principles of our own faith! How few, even 
in Christian lands, have saving faith in Christ! and what 
an insignificant part of humanity are inarching under the 
banner of the Nazarene! Can it be possible'that those who 
believe not in Christ’s divinity, are forever lost! If this be 
true, how much better had humanity never been born! 
What an awful mistake must the Creator have made!” 

Thus did this earnest soul converse with himself. How¬ 
ever ardently he prayed, labored, and studied, there yet 
remained with Merton an ever conscious sense of deep un¬ 
certainty. The vacancy for something higher and nobler 
than he yet possessed, was not filled; rather was his hun¬ 
ger for a deeper and more reasonable faith day by day in¬ 
tensified. True, he had finished a course in arts, and was 
now fast completing his work in divinity, by which he had 
hoped to attain to a satisfactory knowledge concerning the 
matters he was to teach; but, sad to say, at this time he 
felt no realization of former expectations. The question 
may be asked, why at this time he did not turn aside from 
the work of the ministry. We answer, it was because of 
the fear that by so doing he might be opposing the will of 
God, as well as because of the unsettled character of his 
own doubts. He thought, having done what he had, that 
he should go on, until he felt more certain of the truth or 
falsity of the things he then doubted. He could not hear 
a missionary sermon, without feeling deep offence at what 
was said; he could not listen to a sermon on the atone¬ 
ment, without feeling shocked at the character attributed 
to God; he could not listen to the preacher who assigned 
the heathen to everlasting perdition, and the Christian to 
everlasting blessedness, without being shocked at his blas¬ 
phemy. He protested in his soul against the doctrine that 
God ever had a chosen people; or that eternal blessedness 
awaits a man, because he happens to be born in a peculiar 


56 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


faith. Let us ask ourselves, was he not right in doing this. 
Little power has any man over the place where he shall be 
born, and but little more has he over the choice of his 
earliest associations. But it is these two factors that enter 
so largely into the product of his life’s forces; and, there¬ 
fore, according to orthodoxy, that determine the soul’s 
eternal state. I ask myself, why am I a Christian? Is it 
my fault? Why is the Turk a Mohammedan? Is it his 
fault? Why is the Indian a Buddhist? Is he to blame? If 
the Buddhist be consigned to hell, because of that for 
which he can not be blamed, why should not I, in like 
manner, be consigned to hell, because of that for which I 
am not to be blamed? Why was I brought up in the Church 
of England? I certainly did not make the choice. Why 
was the Chinee brought up to believe in Confucius? He cer¬ 
tainly did not choose the faith he should be raised in. Merton 
could not help thinking, if the Buddhist should be damned 
for accepting a faith his father and mother taught him, and 
believed in by his race, that he should be damned for do¬ 
ing likewise. He could not help believing in Christianity, 
as best for him, and his race; but he was inclined to believe 
that, as God had given him a religion, so had He given 
others, or else to conclude that God acts with partiality 
and injustice. He clearly saw that much of his faith was 
based on mere opinion; that he was what he was, largely 
because of custom, habit, training, associations, and other 
such accidents; and fhat for these accidents, no man can 
be justly blamed or praised. He was the more confirmed 
in this belief from the knowledge that the most intelligent 
of every age had not received, and would not receive, 
Christianity as commonly taught; that the philosopher’s 
interpretation of Christianity is one thing, and the theolo¬ 
gian’s another,—the former looking deeper into the nature 
of things, the latter skimming along on their surfaces. In 


KNOWLEDGE AND BELIEF. 


57 


other words, while the philosopher seeks real knowledge, 
the theologian seeks to establish opinion, or “what saitli 
the church?” Thus the end of the philosopher’s work is 
truth; but of the theologian’s, dogma; and since Merton 
saw that truth and truth alone could save, he was inclined 
to side with those who sought it, as with those who acted 
from knowledge, rather than with those who acted from 
custom or habit. In other words, he saw the meaning of 
Aristotle’s statement, and was forced to acknowledge 
its truth: 

“ Aib Kal robs dpxir/Krovas vepl %kci<ttov Tipiur/poos Kal 
p.a\\ov elb/vai vop.ifop.ev t£>v x €l P l0Te X v & v Kai <ro<f>u}T/pov s. Stl ras 
alrias rwv TOiovp./vu)v foaaiv, robs 5’ '■wcrirep Kal t&v a^/ix (j}V </vta^ 
iroieiv p./v ovk eidbra 8b iroieXv a iroiei , o’iov Kaiei rb irvp • . . . . 
dXX’ ov X^7 ovai r6 8ia ri irepl ovdevbs , olov dia tL Oeppbv rb rvp , 

dXXa p.6vov 8 ti dep/xov — Therefore, we consider the architect, 
in every case, to be more honorable, to know more, and to 
be wiser than the manual laborer, because he knows the 
causes of the things done; while the mere manual laborer, 
as one of the soulless creatures, works without really un¬ 
derstanding what he does. He works as the fire burns. He 
never gives a real reason for anything, such as, why is fire 
hot; he simply says it is hot.” (Me/a. I. i. n—14). Thus 
in truth is it with the theologian: he never gives a sat¬ 
isfactory reason or cause for anything, and, as a rule, nev¬ 
er seeks it; he simply says, it is so. 

It would be, perhaps, too much to say that Merton, at 
this time, positively disbelieved any of the fundamental 
principles of Christianity; but it is certain that he had many 
doubts concerning the inspiration of the Scriptures, the 
genuineness of miracles, the story of the fall of man, vica¬ 
rious atonement, eternal damnation, and salvation by faith. 

With all his skepticism, he did not feel any more un¬ 
certain about the groundwork of his faith, than other 
young ministers with whom he was associated. As far as 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


58 

he could understand, 'the difference between himself and 
them was that they hushed up their fears, while he gave 
vent to them. Yet, knowing that the morals of Christian¬ 
ity do not depend on its dogmas, he thought it proper, and 
believed he was in duty bound, to be a minister of Christ. 
He did not as yet know, what he afterwards learned, that 
it is dogmas rather than truth or reason, which the church¬ 
es seek to enforce. For it is not by one’s own holiness, w 7 e 
are told, that he may hope to be saved, but only by that 
of another; not by a harvest of righteousness, the product 
of one’s own heart, but by the imputed righteousness of 
Christ. Surely the time is fast approaching, when doctrine 
so pregnant with injustice, and so destructive of morality, 
will be heard no more. 

Merton had now completed a three-years course of study 
in divinity; his only duties remaining yet unperformed be¬ 
ing the delivering of his sermon before the faculty, and 
the preparation of his graduating thesis. He chose as his 
text for the former, “And his rest shall be glorious;” and 
as his subject for the latter, “Science and Religion.” In 
the preparation and delivery of the sermon, he experienced 
but little difficulty; for it is surely not a w r ork of great la¬ 
bor to show that as a result of a noble and pure life, a sense 
of satisfaction and security possesses the .soul, such as noth¬ 
ing external to the soul can give or take away; for it is in- 
bred. Virtue, the highest good of all, is its own reward. 
And since God is the very fountain of all that is good, 
he is truly the fountain of virtue. We may therefore right¬ 
ly say, that the rest which follows a life of virtue, is God’s 
rest; and, in this sense, that “his rest shall be glorious.” 

But Merton did not find the same ea.se in the prepara¬ 
tion of his thesis, for reading at his graduation. Every 
scientific w 7 ork brought him proof enough of the antagon¬ 
ism between science and religion. Open war w 7 a$ declared 


KNOWLEDGE AND BELIEF. 


59 


on every page; no quarter was to be granted. The battle 
was raging fiercely; and, he was told, it would never cease, 
till superstition, which was everywhere preached in the 
name of religion, should fall to rise no more. He could not 
fail to see that ministers were using every artifice, every 
trick of logic, to escape the questions at issue. Nor was it 
the less important matters that were attacked: the very 
foundations of dogmatic Christianity were being stormed, 
on all sides, by the heavy artillery of science. Nor was the 
fire proceeding from one or a few fortresses of science; but 
from all along the line the guns belched forth their de¬ 
structive missiles, tearing the ranks of dogmatism to pieces. 
But this overpowering charge of science, clad in impenetra¬ 
ble armor, and equipped with all the means of warfare 
that truth has at its command, did not appear to Merton 
so fraught with dire destruction, as the fact that the very 
ranks of dogmatism were full of disorder, confusion, and 
disloyalty. Face to face with its ancient and most dread 
enemy, Science, and weakened by dissensions and fears 
within, dogmatic Christianity, it appeared to Merton, 
would do well, if ere long it had enough of loyal soldiers 
to bury its dead. It was no raw recruits that dogmatism 
had brought into the field, but the old veterans who had 
borne their banners victorious in many a battle against 
freedom and truth. Every company carried its own ban¬ 
ner, as well to make each soldier the more readily respon¬ 
sible to his own commander for his bravery, as to make its 
command more easy and efficient. On the different ban¬ 
ners, all blood-stained, and many now lying on the ground, 
befouled with dust, Merton read the names of their divis¬ 
ions: ■ ‘Special Creation, ’ ’ “The Immaculate Conception, ’ ’ 
“The Divinity of Christ,” “Special Inspiration,” “Special 
Revelation,’ ’ “Blood Atonement,’* “Vicarious Sacrifice,’’ 
“Imputed Righteousness,” “Salvation by Faith,” “Elec- 


6o 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUT. 


tion to Grace,” “Reprobation,” “Eternal Damnation,” 
and “No Other Name.” While some of these companies 
were stubbornly resisting the attacks of science, and yield¬ 
ing their ground only inch by inch; others were fleeing in 
all directions, heedless of their commanders’ orders, or of 
the dangers of their brethren. 

In his thesis Merton labored hard to repair the breaks 
he observed in the ranks of dogmatism, and to raise out of 
the dust the banners of the various defeated legions; but 
he experienced but little success. In his heart, however, 
he was not sure whether the precipitous rout of the allied 
forces of dogmatism was owing to bad generalship, or to 
lack of power and virtue in the legions themselves. He 
hoped the cause would be found to be in the former, and 
not in the latter; and that under better generalship, and 
spurred by the memories of past victories, the allied forces 
of dogmatism might yet regain their lost ground, and wave 
once more their flag victorious and triumphant. So, for 
the present, he tried to quiet his fears, and hope for the 
best. But how fleeting is such a quiet! how vain is such 
a hope! Merton had beheld a glimpse of the truth. He 
was passing out of the house of bondage; and, however 
slow, in due time such souls are sure to come into the 
Promised Eand. 

To Merton the .sweetest of all names was the name of 
Jesus; and surely no sweeter name can be pronounced by 
the lover of righteousness. But the truth was not yet fully 
grasped by him, that it was this sweet Jesus who found in 
the organized church his most inveterate enemy: it was the 
church that condemned and crucified him. And as often 
as the mind of Jesus has been manifested in the church, so 
often has the human being who bore it, been subjected to 
persecution and frequently put to death. The full know¬ 
ledge of this truth was to come to Merton afterwards. For 


KNOWLEDGE AND BELIEF. 


6l 


the present he thought it right, not only to offer himself 
to God a living sacrifice, as was his most bounden duty; 
but also to the orthodox church, as the only authoritative 
expression of the voice of God. The thought of his heart 
was most truly expressed in the following little poem, 
which he found, at the time, in a periodical: 

Any little corner, Lord, within thy vineyard wide, 

Where Thou bidst me work for Thee, there would I abide; 
Miracle of saving grace, that Thou givest me a place 

Anywhere. 

Where we pitch our nightly tent, surely matters not, 

If the day for Thee is spe t f blessed is the spot. 

Quickly we the tent may fold, cheerful march through storm 

[and cold, 

With thy care, anywhere. 

All along the wilderness let us keep our sight 
On the moving pillar fixed, constant day and night, 

Willing led by Thee to roam 

Anywhere. 


CHAPTER VI. 

Self-Deception. 

And ye shall know that the Lord of hosts hath sent me. 

( Zechariah .) 

Just before taking his degree in divinity, Merton, like 
all other young men similarly situated, was earnestly con¬ 
sidering the question where best to begin his chosen work; 
and in seeking the solution of til's problem, he was great¬ 
ly perplexed. In this state of mind he. feil into conversa¬ 
tion one day with Mr. Carter. 

“Where will you begin your labors, Mr. Carter?” asked 
Merton. 

“I have long felt a drawing toward Indiana,” he re¬ 
plied. “I wrote a presiding elder there, who urges me to 
come. He says young men are wanted there full of power 
and the Holy Ghost. He also mentions a very desirable 
vacancy, in a nice town of several thousand people, having 
a salary to begin with of not less than ten hundred. I have 
made the matter a subject of long and earnest prayer; and 
I feel quite sure that the Holy Ghost draws me that way. 
It is a great blessing, Bro. Merton, that we are not left to 
ourselves to decide such matters. He that is with us, has 
promised to lead us into all truth, and into the way we 
should go. Yes, I am going to Indiana. It is a good open¬ 
ing. Besides, I can not disobey the voice of the Holy 
Ghost. Where, Bro. Merton, do you feel the voice of God 
calling you?” 

“I have always felt it my duty, Mr. Carter, long and 
earnestly to consider such important matters before mak¬ 
ing any decision. Even then I know mistakes are likely 
to happen; for we are very fallible creatures. But I am 


SEEF-DECEPTION. 


63 


sure God has given us our reason with which we should 
weigh all things for and against, and determine the results 
as best we can. The farmer may sow wheat or plant corn, 
and he will choose to do this or that, as being, in his judg¬ 
ment, the most beneficial to him. He may be a very good 
man; but if also a wise one, he will not expect an answer 
from God to the question, whether to choose this or that 
is the better. The miner seeking to strike a vein of ore, 
may cross-cut here or there, and according to his skill 
in mining, will be, in general, the correctness of his deter¬ 
mination. I have never heard of a company who would 
choose, as the superintendent of their mine, a man of prayer 
in preference to a man experienced in mining. In our class¬ 
es, Mr. Carter, I have often heard the professors advising 
you more thoroughly to study the lessons assigned you; 
but I have never heard them advising you to pray over 
them.” 

“I do not understand you, Bro. Merton,” he replied. 
“Do you intend to say, you do not believe in the call of 
the Holy Ghost?” 

“I will first ask you, Mr. Carter, to define the word, 
‘call’. What do you mean by it? Does God write you a 
letter? send a personal message to you? talk face to face? 
or is it a conclusion you arrive at from certain mental im¬ 
pressions?’ ’ 

“I mean by a call from the Holy Ghost, a feeling in 
my heart that such and such is the truth.” 

“How do you come to such conclusions, Mr. Carter? 
Do you recognize the truth you speak of through your 
heart, or through your intelligence?” 

“I recognize its truth through my heart bearing wit¬ 
ness to it.” 

c ‘Very strange, Mr. Carter. I have heard that man’s 
heart is the great centre of the arterial system, that it sup- 


6 4 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUR. 


plies the whole body with fresh blood to the end of life; 
but I never knew before that it pumped brains as well 
as blood, or that it was supposed to be the seat of intelli¬ 
gence. ’ ’ 

“I did not say it was the seat of intelligence.’ ’ 

“Did you not say, Mr. Carter, that you recognize cer¬ 
tain truths through your heart?” 

“Yes, I did; but that is different.” 

“Is not recognition the work of intelligence? Is it not 
an intelligent act?’ ’ 

“Yes.” 

“If recognition & the work of intelligence, and intelli¬ 
gence is not a work of the heart; how, then, can recogni¬ 
tion be a work of the heart?” 

“I hardly understand what you are trying to get at. 
One thing I know: I believe in a call.” 

“Believe on, Mr. Carter. I presume our little talk will 
do us no harm. May your call be a good one. For myself 
I can only say, I hope I may choose wisely. I am sure I 
would go wherever I thought I could do the most good. ’ ’ 
“Very good, Bro. Merton; but I am very sorry to know 
that you do not believe in the call of the Holy Ghost. ’ ’ 

“I thought we had done, Mr. Carter; but permit me 
to ask, how you distinguish an impression made by the 
Holy Ghost from that made by any other power? You see 
a piece of land having good surroundings, and believe it 
will soon advance in price. You then have an impression 
that it will be wise to invest. If a clerk hears of a good 
clerkship, in a thriving town, he has an impression that 
it would be good to accept it. Now, I wish to know in 
what sense do these impressions differ from that of which 
you speak?” 

“I suppose an impression is an impression. I do not 
suppose they differ at all. ” 


sexf-deception. 


65 


“Then, if they are the same, how can you be sure that 
the impression of your call has not been produced by other 
powers than the Holy Ghost?” 

“Good-day, Bro. Merton. You go your way, and I’ll 
go mine. Let us see who will get there.” 

Thus these two young men parted, the one full of love 
for the truth, the other full of fanaticism and ignorance. 
The little education Mr. Carter had received, was had in 
the theological school—a poor place to obtain information. 
Nor must it be supposed that Mr. Carter was peculiarly 
faithful or devout. Indeed, in the judgment of many of 
the students, he was morally unfit for the work of the 
ministry. 

Merton firmly believed in a living God; and in the Ho¬ 
ly Ghost, as the same Person acting on the minds of intel¬ 
ligent beings, and raising them into a higher life. He be¬ 
lieved that prayer serves to strengthen and sanctify the 
soul, in the same manner as food serves to strengthen and 
fortify the body. But as he did not believe that God ever 
directly accomplishes for man, what food is known to ac¬ 
complish; so had he grave doubts that God ever interferes 
with the natural order of things, notwithstanding prayer 
and supplication. But by “natural order” it must not be 
supposed that Merton understood anything low or com¬ 
mon. In his heart he was inclined to believe that nature 
is the grand totality in which God is ever manifesting 
himself; and that the laws of nature are only the constant 
manner in which the universally present, and immutable, 
Divine Being operates in it. As man is nothing apart 
from his body, so God is nothing apart from nature. 
Mind and body make man; so the material universe, and 
the soul which operates it, make God. He could not help 
coming to this conclusion. For if God is infinite, He can 
not be absent from any point of space, nor atom of matter, 


66 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


and if God can not be absent from any atom of matter, He 
can not be essentially different from nature. L,et us take 
the least possible portion of nature, a mere atom of so- 
called matter. What have we? We answer, a mere point 
of force, an infinitely small particle of nature. It is evident 
that two infinitely small points can not occupy the same 
space, at the same time; and that since God can not be 
apart from any portion of nature, the infinitely small por¬ 
tion of nature we are now considering, must be of the Di¬ 
vine Essence. With Merton, therefore, nature was a liv* 
ing thing, a divine organism, the garment, covering, dwell¬ 
ing-place, or tabernacle of God. 

Thus if Merton doubted that God ever acts outside of 
the order of nature, it was because he could not believe 
that God is a changeable Being. And since it is the nat¬ 
ural order, that for whatever man possesses, be it money, 
power, or wisdom, he must labor in some way or other, 
until he obtains it; Merton could not understand, how it 
would be reasonable to expect from God such interference 
with the natural order, as Mr. Carter claimed. Merton had 
firm faith in prayer. It was a soul-food without which he 
had never lived. But he thought of prayer, not as a means 
of compelling, or coercing God; but as a means of com¬ 
pelling, coercing, or educating himself, better to interpret 
the mind or will of God. Thus by prayer he might be en¬ 
abled to form a better judgment, where and how to begin 
his work; but he doubted that God would grant the min¬ 
ister information on terms easier than those on which He 
grants skill to the mechanic, wisdom to the philosopher, 
or right management to the farmer. He knew well it is a 
peculiar favor the minister frequently claims; but he was 
also convinced there was no reason for such claim. Like 
many similar superstitions that are beyond the pale of proof 
or absolute disproof, it is acquiesced in by the ignorant; 


SKLF-DECEPTION. 


67 


but the intelligent reject it, as wholly without warrant, and 
contrary to all known facts. Nor are the ignorant ever con¬ 
sistent in their belief. When seemingly to their interests, 
they avowedly believe in such miraculous interposition; 
but when not to their interests, they in reality reject it. 
This was true of Mr. Carter. It was only a few days after 
the conversation given above, when Merton again met Mr. 
Carter, who said: 

“How is your thesis, Bro. Merton? I suppose you feel 
satisfied that you are prepared to deliver it all right?” 

“I have put much time on it, ’ ’ Merton replied. ‘ ‘A day 
or two more, and you will know more about it than I can 
now tell you. I suppose you are all right with yours?” 

“Yes, I’m all right; but I chose a very difficult sub¬ 
ject—‘The Workings and Witness-bearing Power of the 
Holy Ghost.’ However, it is something that young men, 
going out into the active field, would do well to contemp¬ 
late; and I thought it a good opportunity to say something 
on the subject. The house, you know, is sure to be crowded 
on Commencement Day. There will be no lack of hear¬ 
ers; and the good that may be accomplished, can not be 
overestimated. ’ ’ 

“It is indeed a fine subject, especially when elucidated 
by a person acquainted with the matter. With your gestic¬ 
ulating power, oratorical ability, and splendid erudition, 
we may all look for something unusual; and I do not think 
any of us will be disappointed. A man of your talents, 
Mr. Carter, should find a fine opening in the field some¬ 
where. It is a pity that you should be buried in some ob¬ 
scure country village, or with people that can never ap¬ 
preciate the richness and depth of your thought. It may 
be that God will bring things to pass so that you will find 
a field worthy of your piety and ability. Let us hope it 
may be so.” 


68 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUG 


“Thank you, Bro. Merton, thank you; I have good 
news on that subject. Only yesterday I accepted a call to 
W., in Kansas. It is a flourishing town; the church has 
a very nice stone parsonage; the people are united, and 
full of the spirit; and they offer me twelve hundred a year. 
I am about to be married; and the call is very acceptable 
to the young lady I am to make my wife. She is quite re¬ 
fined, has been well brought up; and I would not like to 
take her into some little out-of-the-way place. I am sure 
that I feel quite thankful to the Holy Spirit for so acting, 
on me and others, as to bring about this very desirable 
opening. I suppose you have settled on your future field?” 

“No, sir, I am sorry to say. I have been waiting, how¬ 
ever, and longing to receive such aid as you profess to 
have at hand. It may be that the Spirit does not come my 
way. Of one thing, however, I am sure: I should be glad 
if He would do for me what, you say, He has done for 
you. I wonder how is it, that some feel so certain of things, 
while others do not? You remember how uncertain the 
great and holy Socrates was. And even Christ said: ‘Fath¬ 
er, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me. ’ It would 
seem that Christ did not know, what the future was to 
bring him. I do wonder how these things are so. Surely, 
God does not make fish of one, and flesh of another! Sure¬ 
ly, He is the Father of all, and treats all with the same 
tender care. ’ ’ 

“O yes, undoubtedly, Bro. Merton. But it may be that 
some have missed their calling. Every man is made for a 
special work. If a man is outside of his proper work, God 
will not help him in the way that I mean; only the Holy 
Ghost assures us that we have chosen the work God wills 
us to do. ’ ’ 

“So you have settled on your future field, Mr. Carter. 
You have a call of twelve hundred, with a nice stone par- 


SEIyF- DECEPTION. 


69 


sonage, and a fine people, in a nice town,—the very place 
for your future wife. What salary were you offered in In¬ 
diana? You remember you spoke of it to me a few days ago. ’ ’ 

“I was offered ten hundred there.’’ 

“Was there no nice parsonage in connection with the 
place?’ ’ 

“No; that place had no parsonage. The minister who 
went there, would have to pay his own rent.’’ 

“Was not the town a flourishing one? were the people 
not well united?” 

“Yes, it was a good town. The people are not, how¬ 
ever, so well united there, as where I am now going. ’ ’ 

“So, then, as I understand you, Mr. Carter, you pre¬ 
fer going to the place you have just accepted, because the 
church is better united, offers a better salary, has a nice 
parsonage, and is more agreeable to your future wife. 
These are very material reasons indeed. Your choice, I 
suppose, was determined by the will of the Holy Ghost, 
who reveals himself within you. ’ ’ 

“I think so, Bro. Merton. I feel that God is leading 
me to W.” 

“Mr. Carter, do you imagine that God can will one 
thing to-day, and another to-morrow! Do you suppose He 
has forgotten that He advised you, a few days ago, to go 
to Indiana!” 

“No, sir, I do not; but God acts according to the 
needs of things. The last few days the conditions of things 
have changed. What was good for me then, is not good 
for me*now.’’ 

“Thank you, Mr. Carter. How very useful it must 
be for one to have a god so accomodating, so readily ad¬ 
justable to circumstances! L,et us hope, ifyourcallis what 
you want, that he will not forget to-morrow, that you are 
making arrangements to-day to go to W. ” 


70 FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 

The young men parted never to meet again. Merton 
was greatly offended at the thought that a man calling him¬ 
self a minister of the majestic Christ, could thus make God 
a tool, or bring the Divine Majesty down to the level of 
low and changeable man. And yet the logic of Mr. Carter 
is the logic of most pulpits of the land. The great weak¬ 
ness of Mr. Carter, lay in his inability to hide more effect¬ 
ually the erroneous nature of his views:. 

“The world is still deceived with ornament. 

In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt, 

But, being seasoned with a gracious voice, 

Obscures the show of evil? In religion, 

What damned error, but some sober brow 
Will bless it, and approve it with a text, 

Hiding the grossness with fair ornament? 

There is no vice so simple, but assumes 
Some mark of virtue on its outward parts.” 

{The Merchant of Venice.) 


CHAPTER VII. 

THE GREATEST IS CHARITY. 


Nate deci, quo fata trakunt rctraliuntque , sequamur; 

Quid quid erit , superanda omnis for tuna feven do est — 
Goddess-born, wherever the fates may lead, forward or back¬ 
ward, let us follow. Whatever may happen, every fortune is sure 
to be overcome by him who endures it. ( Vergil: Aen. V. 709.) 


^^7’HILE in the seminary, Merton’s attention had been 
called to the wants of the church in the state of Kan¬ 
sas; and shortly after finishing his divinity course, he cor¬ 
responded with a bishop concerning the propriety of going 
there. The bishop answered his letter very fully, and spoke 
• of a church, in a certain city of that state, needing a pas¬ 
tor; and advised Merton, at the same time, to write the 
presiding elder of the district, where the church was sit¬ 
uated. Having addressed the latter concerning the matter, 
Merton received an answer to the effect, that the vacancy 
had been for some time filled. While unable to give him 
that appointment, the elder urged Merton to come to Kan¬ 
sas, filling his letter with the most glowing accounts of the 
country. The advantages to be had in coming there, he 
said, were very many: the climate was unequalled; the 
people were reaching out their hands; and the possibilities 
for the minister could not be surpassed. A few days after¬ 
wards, Merton received a letter from another presiding eld¬ 
er, of the same state, offering him the choice of two, as 
he said, very desirable appointments. 

At first Mrs. Merton was very unwilling to go so far 
west; but after a little persuasion, she consented, hoping 
with Merton that the voice that called him, was the voice 
of God. But to her the parting with her parents was pain- 


72 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


ful in the extreme. It was far away she -was to go; and the 
wife of a minister had no money to waste on pleasure trips 
or excursions. It was not, therefore, probable that she 
would again see them for a long time. However, prepar¬ 
ations were soon made. They were rushing towards their 
destination, and, in the course of two or three days, found 
themselves in the city of Atchison. Here they were met 
by the minister of the town, who gave Merton every pos¬ 
sible assistance, manifesting great kindness, and showing 
much interest in his welfare. Leaving the residence of this 
hospitable minister, in a few hours Merton arrived at the 
end of his journey, late in the evening. The next morning 
was very beautiful; and it was indeed a magnificent sight 
that met his gaze. Vast plains stretched away, as far as 
the eye could see; standing fields of tall corn indicated the 
richness of the soil; and a beautiful stream of water be¬ 
spoke other possible industries. The sun rose in most glo¬ 
rious splendor; the sky was cloudless; a cool and gentle 
breeze came from the south-east: indeed, both heaven and 
earth seemed to have done their best to give to Merton a 
royal welcome. 

While at the residence of the elder, however, Merton 
discovered that that gentleman had broken his promise— 
that the appointment which in his letter he had promised 
to keep for Merton, had been given to another. When asked 
for an explanation of this, the elder’s excuse was that he 
knew which was the better of the two appointments, and had 
according to his promise, reserved it for Merton. The judg¬ 
ment of the minister, and of many others who knew the 
both appointments, did not, however, agree with that of 
the elder; for they insisted that the elder had acted with 
bad faith, in filling the better appointment a little before 
Merton’s arrival. But being a stranger in a strange land, 
Merton thought it best to make no remonstrance; but in 


the greatest is charity. 


73 


his heart he wondered why an elder could act so dishonor¬ 
ably. Nevertheless, he was greatly troubled; for he knew 
too well that the remaining appointment was one full of 
difficulties; and he doubted that it could supply Mrs. Mer¬ 
ton and himself with even the necessaries of life. But he 
was not to be easily discouraged. Crowns of glory follow 
as the reward of wearing crowns of thorns. 

Previous to departing for his field of labor, Merton and 
his wife had been invited to spend a few days at the resi¬ 
dence of Mrs. Wright. This lady was extremely corpulent. 
When she laughed, she laughed all over. She was about 
five feet three inches tall, and weighed not less than four 
hundred pounds. Her neck, short by nature, was made 
to appear still shorter by the very fleshy condition of the 
shoulders and bust. Indeed, the head upon her shoulders 
appeared not unlike a hen sitting in her nest—almost cov¬ 
ered up by the surroundings. But she was a noble-hearted 
and generous lady. Never had Merton or his wife been 
more hospitably entertained than by Mrs. Wright; and it 
was with many forebodings of evil, that he left the house 
of this genuine Christian, to face the difficulties of his un¬ 
known appointment. But he was full of work, and full of 
hope; and neither he nor his wife could doubt that all 
things would be well. Besides, the presiding elder had as¬ 
sured them over and over that a very hearty welcome was 
awaiting them, where they were going. “When you ar¬ 
rive at Micropolis,” he said, “you will find Bro. Truthful 
waiting at the depot for you. He has made all arrange¬ 
ments, and everything will be satisfactory.” 

Merton was not long in going to Micropolis, the prin¬ 
cipal town of his charge. He found the depot in its place;' 
but the “good brother” w T ho was to receive him, was not 
there. After making some inquiries, however, he found 
Mr. Truthful without much difficulty. He was greatly 


74 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUT. 


surprised to hear that he was expected to meet Merton at 
the depot. “I assure you,” he said, “this is the first I 
have known of your coming. The elder has sent me neith¬ 
er letter nor word about the matter; and I do not know 
what right he had to make such statements to you. It is, 
however, a pleasure for me to know you, and I give you 
a hearty welcome. ’ ’ 

Merton had stated in his letters to the presiding elder, 
that wherever he went, it would be necessary that room 
and board should be provided for himself and wife; and 
the elder assured him that this matter would be provided 
for. Mr. Truthful, however, had heard nothing of this; 
nor could he think of any place in the town, where ac¬ 
ceptable board and room could be had. “The town, Mr. 
Merton,” he said, “is new; and the people, being without 
much money, build themselves very small homes, in order 
to save expenses. There are but few families who have 
rooms for the accommodation of strangers or guests. All 
that I can do for you, you may rely upon it, I shall do. I 
will go with you now, and see what can be done.” 

At first they went to the residence of a good member, 
a Mrs. Brady, who said: “I would be so glad to have you 
with us, Bro. Merton; nothing could be more pleasing 
than the company of yourself and wife. My house, how¬ 
ever, is already full and running over; I couldn’t find room 
even for my mother. ’ ’ They then went to the house of 
a Mrs. Webb, who was not a member of any church, but 
had enough humanity in her to invite them to stay, and 
take dinner. “Although I have no spare room in my 
house,” she said, “and am unable to have the pleasure of 
taking you to board with us, I must insist on your taking 
dinner with me, especially as it is so near dinner hour; 
and I am sure Mrs. Merton will be glad to rest a little 
while.” 


THE GREATEST IS CHARITY. 


75 


After dinner they continued their search for room and 
board; but no acceptable place could be found, except at 
the small hotel. There the charges were so high, that Mer¬ 
ton feared his expected income would not enable him to 
assume the responsibility of paying the bills; nor was such 
a place, for other reasons, agreeable to a man of Merton’s 
character. 

Having failed in their search, Mr. Truthful pressed 
Merton to come and stay with him for a few days, until 
some other arrangement could be made. Merton felt the 
invitation had been sincerely made, and he therefore glad¬ 
ly accepted it. Mr. Truthful was a prosperous farmer, and 
resided about a mile from the town. His wife was found to 
be a most kind-hearted woman, ready to submit, for the 
sake of her guests, to great discomfort. But such a nature 
was the last in the world Merton could impose upon. 

The evening was spent in earnest conversation as to 
the needs and conditions of the appointments. Merton dis¬ 
covered that several ministers, some with very fair ability, 
had been laboring there, but with little success. The sta¬ 
tions, four or five in number, and separated from four to 
ten miles one from another, had but very few members, 
most of whom were extremely poor, scarcely able to sup¬ 
port themselves, and not at all inclined to give of their 
penury toward the support of the preacher in charge. The 
ministers who had been stationed there had been literally 
starved out; and most of them had left, leaving many debts 
behind them. The evening’s conversation brought no en¬ 
couragement to Merton; the information he obtained was 
not suitable for a sedative, after a day’s fruitless labor. 

On retiring, Merton was greatly pained to find that 
the room assigned himself and wife, was that of Mr. and 
Mrs. Truthful; and he determined that come what would, 
he could not allow himself to be the recipient of favors 


76 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUR. 


that brought such discomfort on his host. In the morning 
he found that the family of Mr. Truthful was a very large 
one, and that there were not sufficient rooms for their com¬ 
fort, even when all were given up to the exclusive use of 
the family. This knowledge settled Merton in his deter¬ 
mination not to stay there another night. 

In order to make some excuse for leaving, without giv¬ 
ing offence to the kind-hearted people who had so hospit¬ 
ably received them, Merton, after breakfast, told them it 
was absolutely necessary that he should find some perma¬ 
nent boarding-place,—a place where he could set up his 
books, and have the same for use. He assured them that 
he could never forget their kindness; but that even apart 
from the necessity of seeking some permanent place to 
board and room, he felt sure that their remaining there 
must inconvenience the family; and that this, he would not 
consent to do. 

“I am sorry,” said Mr. Truthful, “that we are no bet¬ 
ter prepared to accommodate you than we are. To such as 
we have, you are entirely welcome, no matter what dis¬ 
comfort or inconvenience it brings us. If you can stand 
what we have, we will get along somehow. Mrs. Truth¬ 
ful and I are used to these little things. ’ * 

“Mr. Truthful,” said Merton, “I am sure your good¬ 
ness would lead you to do anything for us; but comfort at 
such sacrifice we could not allow ourselves to receive. ’ ’ 

“It is a shame,” replied Mr. Truthful, “that the elder 
did not acquaint me with the fact of your coming. I feel 
sure that had I known of it in time, something might have 
been done. It is not very encouraging to you, Mr. Mer¬ 
ton; and I feel greatly pained at the condition of things. 
I will see, however, what can be done to-day; but I have 
no great expectations from this people. In the past I have 
frequently entertained hopes, only to have them every one 


THE GREATEST IS CHARITY. 


77 


blasted. I have had many bitter disappointments since I 
have been living here. The people are quite willing to 
have a minister among them, provided some one else keep 
and support him; but they are scarcely willing to assume 
any responsibility themselves.” 

“Never mind, Mr. Truthful,” replied Merton, “I am 
not discouraged. I can not believe but that all will be right 
in time. A few souls like you in the work, and it will soon 
be moving. If we can not find accommodations here, we 
will proceed to Ifittleville. It is only four or five miles 
distant, I believe; and if we are obliged to do so, I think 
we can walk that far. * ’ 

After a search of two or three hours, very good rooms 
were found at the residence of Mrs. Taylor; and Merton 
began to make preparations to go there. Just as soon as 
he thought the difficulty for the present settled, some two 
or three of the good church members came hastening, and 
said: “Do not go there for the world. It will ruin you, 
and disgrace the church. You are a stranger here, and do 
not know her character. We therefore feel it our duty to 
put you on your guard. We are sure if you go there, you 
will give unpardonable offence to the people of the church. 
No decent person, in the town, would stay over night at 
her house. We are sorry to have to say anything about 
this business; but, as members of the church, we feel it 
our duty.” 

Thus ended Merton’s last attempt to find board or ac¬ 
commodations in the town of Micropolis. Among all the 
members of the church, there had not been found one who 
could accommodate them with rooms and board; and none 
of the members, with the exception of good Mr. Truthful, 
had offered them a night’s shelter. Strangers they were 
in a strange land, homeless among their own; and no man 
said to them, “come, tarry thou with me.” Merton was 


78 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUR. 


heart-sick; but the thought of his duty gave him courage 
to persevere. 

Having resolved to proceed to Uittleville, Merton has¬ 
tened to a livery-stable, in search of a conveyance; but none 
could be found. Nothing was now left but to walk to Lit- 
tleville, a distance of four or five miles. It was late in the 
afternoon, and the day was exceedingly hot. Under the 
circumstances Merton wished to go alone to Littleville, 
find accommodations, obtain a carriage, and return for his 
wife; but Mrs. Merton insisted on going with him. “If 
you go,” she said, “I go; I am not afraid but that I can 
walk four miles. It would be almost impossible for you to 
go there and return again for me to-day; so I shall not 
stay behind you. ’ ’ 

“But,” said Merton, “there may be difficulties on the 
way. Rivers have been greatly swollen lately; bridges 
have been carried away. Besides, the way is altogether 
strange to me. It is much safer for you to remain at Mr. 
Truthful’s residence, until I return for you, either to-day 
or to-morrow.” 

“Please, do not ask me to remain behind. However 
long the journey, and great the difficulties, in company 
with you I gladly undertake them all, in preference to re¬ 
maining behind. To be with you, will be a pleasure; to 
stay behind, unbearable pain.” 

No man can withstand the pleadings of a beautiful 
woman. It was therefore decided that they should set out 
together for the hoped-for resting-place; although Merton 
had many misgivings as to the wisdom of such a course. 

Soon they were walking along the banks of a murmur¬ 
ing stream. They had never before heard its gurgling 
waters, nor seen the feathered tribe moisten their vocal or¬ 
gans to sing their songs of joy. As Merton heard their 
hymns of praise, he recalled the words of him who said: 


THE GREATEST IS CHARITY. 


79 


“The foxes have their holes, and the birds of the air their 
nests; but the Son of Man hath not where to lay his head. ’ ’ 

They had succeeded in walking two or three miles over 
the burning sand, after having crossed the little brook, 
when Mrs. Merton said: “See, Harry! here are two roads. 
Which do we take? One goes through the corn-fields, and 
the other across the prairie. ’ ’ 

“Since neither of us knows anything about the way,” 
replied Merton, “I presume we are each equally certain; 
but let us take this one leading over the prairie. It is at 
least easier to travel.” 

Walking along for a short distance, they met an old 
woman and'a boy riding on a wagon. “Madam,” said 
Merton, “are we on the right way to Tittleville?” 

“Tord! no sir; you must go back, and take the road 
leading through that yer corn-field. It is a mighty hot day 
for sich folks as you to walk to Littleville. If I hadn’t a 
heap of work to do to-day, I would drive you right over 
there; but ain’t got no time now.” 

“Thank you, Madam,” replied Merton. “We’ll man¬ 
age to get along. We are much obliged to you.” 

Retracing their steps, they soon found themselves pass-' 
ing through the most luxuriant corn, from ten to twelve 
feet high. Being very hungry, Merton appeased his ap¬ 
petite by eating some ears, as he travelled on. 

“I wonder are we ever going to get to Tittleville?” 
said Mrs. Merton. ‘ ‘ This is the longest four miles I have 
ever travelled. When we started, they told us that it was 
about four miles; after travelling an hour, that woman tells 
us it is still three miles distant. It seems to me that the 
miles in this country are like men’s consciences. Hark! 
What is that?” 

“I do not know,” replied Merton; “but I know you 
are tired. I presume the distance from Micropolis to Tit- 


8 o 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


tleville is more than four miles; but it is always thus with 
tired feet. You have never known the day when you could 
walk far; much less are you able to do so on this burning 
sand. listen! I guess that must ,be what you heard just 
now. Is not that the sound of a river? It seems to me 
so. Surely, a Jordan does not roll between us and the 
Promised Land!” 

“If so, Harry,” she answered, “it would be hard to 
say which to do, go into the overwhelming waters, or sur¬ 
render to Pharaoh and his hosts. But there is your Jordan, 
and a big one it is. I thought I heard it. I fear in our 
case the fiat is gone forth: ‘Ye shall not go over thither.’ 
We may have a time watching the stars to-night. Wouldn’t 
it be fun! We should never forget it.” 

There rolled the river in its peaceful bed, shaded by 
tall, over-hanging trees. No bridge was visible; it had been 
carried away by the late floods. What was to be done? The 
river was wide, but apparently not very deep; so Merton 
determined to lose no time in trying its depth. Drawing 
off his shoes and stockings, he began to wade across the 
stream, carefully selecting the shallowest parts. He found 
'the stream from eighty to ninety feet wide, and from one 
to three feet deep. Having thus found the depth of the 
stream, he returned for Mrs. Merton. Taking her in his 
arms, he waded across as before, though progress was 
much slower, and to his feet most painful, walking over 
a pebbly bottom, with a hundred and twenty-five pounds 
in his arnis. Once having gained the other side, it was but 
a short time before they were in the little village of Little- 
ville, knocking at the doOr of the residence of the person 
whom Merton sought. 

“Does Mr. Blossom live here?” asked Merton of the 
lady who opened the door. 

“Yes, sir; Mr. Blossom lives here. Do you wish to see 


THE GREATEST IS CHARITY. 


8 l 


him? I am Mrs. Blossom.” 

”1 am very glad to have the pleasure of knowing you, 
Mrs. Blossom,” replied Merton. “I am Mr. Merton, your 
preacher newly appointed to this charge. It may be you 
have heard of my coming, through the presiding elder. 
This is my wife. We have been told that we might have 
board and accommodation at your house. If so, we shall be 
glad to stay with you, paying whatever you think is right. 
We had hoped to live in Micropolis; but could not find 
acceptable accommodations there.” 

“Accomodations at Micropolis! Nobody who knows the 
people of that town, would go there for anything. If you 
had been acquainted with them as I am, you would have 
looked elsewhere for favors., Of course, like most other 
western people, the folks there aren’t any too well fixed; 
but the trouble with them is, they aren’t willing to do 
what they might. My home is not a big one, and it isn’t 
fixed up like I want it to be; but if I don’t know what it 
is now to live in a nice house, I did once. I was brought 
up in Indiana, in as nice a home as the best of them ever 
had; and, besides, I was taught by my parents to be kind 
and obliging to folks in need, as long as they did what 
was right.” 

“Almost any place, Mrs. Blossom, provided it is clean, 
is acceptable to us just now; especially to Mrs. Merton, 
who is exceedingly weary from the long walk. ’ ’ 

“Long walk! Do you mean to say, Mrs. Merton, that 
you have walked all the way from Micropolis?” 

“Yes, Mrs. Blossom; I have accompanied my husband.” 

“Come right in, sir. We are just at tea, and should be 
glad for you to join us.” 

At the table Job’s comforter came: “The preacher who 
preceded you, ’ ’ said Mr. Blossom, ‘ ‘was an unmarried man. 

He was just the kind of a man for this place, for he was 

6 


82 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUT. 


able to rough it. Still he didn’t take very well. They call¬ 
ed him ‘Wild Bill.’ He used to preach with his coat off, 
and his sleeves rolled up, and a sash around his waist. 
When he left, the poor fellow didn’t give us a farewell ser¬ 
mon. In fact, nobody knew that he was going, he left in 
such a hurry. This haste in leaving was the cause, I sup¬ 
pose, of his forgetting to pay his board-bill; and I reckon 
he is too busy heralding the Gospel to remember such little 
trifles now. Previous to the coming of ‘ Wild Bill,’ a mar¬ 
ried preacher had charge here. This fellow’s father was 
well fixed, lived near here, and was his main support. At 
the commencement of his work, the father gave him a nice 
pair of ponies, and a buggy to get around in. This preacher 
used to hold forth pretty good; but somehow he didn’t take, 
although he had a nice little woman. One of the members, 
knowing that the minister’s wife didn’t like squash, carried 
him a whole load as quarterage. After he drove away, the 
preacher and his wife, looking at the wagon-load of squash, 
burst into tears. At the end of the year, notwithstanding 
his father’s help, he was forced to leave for want of support, 
and to sell his ponies and buggy, to have money to get 
away with. I believe he left a few debts, but that’s to be 
expected ; it’s .about the only marks a preacher leaves be¬ 
hind him, in this country, to prove he’s ever been here. 
Preaching out here doesn’t appear to be a very flourishing 
business. A good marly take to it, and for a time carry 
around their goods ; but, take my word for it, the people 
won’t invest. I don’t know how this thing is ; may be they 
found it didn’t pay in the east. I assure you, Merton, I 
am not saying this to discourage you ; I’d be the last to do 
that. You know, I’m a member of the church myself; but, 
then, I don’t go to church, for the reason that I let the 
good brethren fight it out among themselves; and it’s just 


THE GREATEST IS CHARITY. 


83 


as good as a circus sometimes to see them at it. On the 
whole Mr. Merton, you are come to a pretty tough place.” 

These remarks were poor sauce for Merton’s dinner; 
but he had to use it, although it made his meal of herbs 
almost indigestible. In his heart he wished he had never 
seen Kansas. He felt greatly hurt at Mr. Blossom’s in¬ 
sinuation, implied in what had been said about ministers 
going away, forgetting to pay their board-bills, and leav¬ 
ing debts behind them. Nevertheless, he appeared not to 
regard it, except to remark that whether successful or not, 
he certainly would not go away, forgetting to pay his 
board-bill, or leaving debts behind him; that as he was 
then free from all such incumbrances, so he intended to 
remain free from them. Mr. Blossom replied that he did 
not, of cour.se, suppose that Merton would cheat any one 
out of board-money or anything else; he only wished to 
show what kind of preachers had been stationed there. 
The explanation, however, did not remove from Merton 
the consciousness, that Blossom suspected that he might 
be once more cheated out of his board-bill. 

On the morning of the following Sunday, Merton 
preached, at Micropolis, from the words, ‘ ‘Strive to enter 
in at the strait gate;” and in the evening, at Littleville, 
from the words, “If I wash thee not, thou hast no part 
with me.” At each point the audience was good, and com¬ 
posed of representatives of numerous Christian bodies, the 
Winibrennarians being in the majority. 

At the close of the day he was very tired, not less from 
walking more than ten miles, than from the labor attend¬ 
ing the services; yet the hope of doing good and of better 
times strengthened him to bear with his disagreeable cir¬ 
cumstances; but he felt greatly disappointed with his 
charge. 

The Sunday following he preached, in the morning at 


84 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUT. 


Littleville, in the afternoon at Centre, and in the evening 
at Micropolis. This involved a journey of thirty miles on 
horseback. The close of the day found Merton exces¬ 
sively weary, and not a little suspicious of his adaptation to 
the people and place. Tired as he was when the work of 
the day had been finished, he had to travel to Littleville, 
a distance of more than four miles, in as dark a night as 
he had ever known. Through the thick darkness he groped 
his way over the railroad ties, cheered by the conscious¬ 
ness of having done his duty. One bridge had been crossed; 
but yet another was to come much more dangerous than 
that. The ties of the former were spanned by boards, but 
the ties of this were not spanned; and underneath them ran 
a roaring torrent of water swollen to such a degree from 
the late rains, that it threatened to carry away the whole 
structure. The intense darkness, and the roar of the tor¬ 
rent below, made him hesitate, tremble; and the frequent 
flashes of the vivid lightning made the scene still more ap¬ 
palling. He could not see where to step, and one false 
step would hurl him into the flood beneath. What then 
would Mrs. Merton do! The thought made his head swim; 
and to prevent himself from, falling, he crossed the most 
dangerous part of the bridge on his hands and knees. A- 
gain and again in his heart did he rebel against the work 
he had to do; and as often did he say: “It is my Father’s 
hand that leadeth me, and he doth all things well. Through 
the dense darkness, He will bring me to the light.” 

When he arrived at Littleville, he found his beloved 
wife wild with fear, standing at the chamber window, gaz¬ 
ing in the direction he was to come, and trying to pierce 
the gloom to discover his approach. Her joy at his arrival 
can be better imagined than described. “O Harry! Har¬ 
ry!” she cried, “I felt sure you had fallen through the 
bridge; it was so pitch-dark. I fancied I could see your 


THE GREATEST IS CHARITY. 


85 


form carried down the stream; and all I could do, was to 
wring my hands in despair. Oh, how I thank God you are 
come!” 

The next Sunday, Merton preached in the morning at 
Smith’s, from St. James 111. 13. The little house was more 
than full. After service he set out on horseback for Hi¬ 
bernia; but on the way a drenching rain came on, wetting 
him through and through. The thunder was so loud, and 
the lightning so fierce, that his horse became unmanage¬ 
able. In addition to this, he lost his way, going about three 
miles beyond the preaching-point. When he arrived, the 
people had gone, supposing from the lateness of the hour, 
that he was not coming. From this point he rode on to 
Micropolis; but it continued to rain so violently, that no 
services could be held there. 

That night Merton was unable to return to Ifittleville. 
The long ride of from twenty-five to thirty miles, most of 
it through drenching rain, made him so tired that any 
resting-place was acceptable. 

The wife of the gentleman at whose house Merton 
passed the night, held some very peculiar, religious views. 
The next day the husband said to him: “I guess you found 
my wife a rum one, elder; didn’t you?” 

“Your wife, sir,” replied Merton, “has some strange 
ideas; but in such matters, it is better to be liberal. It 
may be, in the near future, she will modify her belief some¬ 
what.” 

“Not a bit of it, elder,” he replied, “not a bit of it. 
Come what will, .she’ll stick to her trumps, though every 
player leaves the table; and, for my part, I think she’s 
about right. Since there are so many denominations, I 
see no reason why she can’t have one; so I say to her, ‘go 
right on;-set up your church, and make me a bishop.’ I 
tell you, elder, she’s a good one. You’ll do a heap of 


86 


Footprints of a soul. 


good by talking to her. I guess you’d better use your 
. powder and shot on more paying game.” 

In a few days, Merton and his wife left the residence of 
Mr. Blossom, having been pressed to spend a month at 
the home of Mr. Soulless, who was a wealthy farmer, liv¬ 
ing about ten miles from the city of Micropolis. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

THE CURSE OF AVARICE. 

oSSi yap ovSi Kev avrbs viriK^vye nrjpa /xi\aivav 
aXX’ "H 0 ai<rros epvTO, crduxre Si — 

Nor could I have escaped black destruction, 

Had not Hephaestus snatched and saved me. 

{Homer: Iliad V. 22.) 

^^HIEE journeying across the prairie to the residence 
of Mr. Soulless, the following conversation occurred 
between Mr. Buttolph and Merton: 

‘ ‘So you are going to the residence of Mr. Soulless. 
Well, I hope you will enjoy your visit; but you will find 
him a crabbed old fellow. He is rich enough, sure. If you 
happen to strike him right, you can make use of him; but 
if you don’t, it’s all over. Soulless is pretty well known 
around here. Those that get into his hands, never get out 
again. I have had not a little experience that way my¬ 
self. And, by the way, Brother Merton, I’ve had exper¬ 
ience in this country in more than one way. I left the 
city of William Penn, some years ago; and came out west, 
hoping to improve my health. I used to preach often in 
the east, and had not been here long before they induced 
me to take charge of this circuit. The first year I labored 
almost night and day, and tried in every way to build up 
the work. Constantly exposed to all kinds of weather, 
my health broke entirely down; and at the end of the year, 
I was forced to resign the work. All I received of this 
people for my whole year’s labor, was sixty dollars. I 
tell you, Brother Merton, you may expect what you will; 
but I’m sure you’ll not receive from this circuit the one- 
half of what you expect. This may dishearten you; but 


88 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUT. 


it’s God’s truth.” 

“But,” replied Merton, “the elder has guaranteed me 
support.” 

“As to guarantees, Brother Merton,” said Mr 0 But- 
tolph, “they are worth as much as the elder who made 
them. Of one thing I’m sure: they don’t count for much 
in this country. ’ ’ 

“It may be so,” replied Merton; “yet I can but hope 
that matters will not be so bad as you predict.” 

“Faith is a good thing, Brother Merton, especially 
when you have the loaves and fishes. But I’ve never seen 
the man who could remove a mountain by it, even though 
it were no bigger than a grain of mustard seed. ’ ’ 

On the following Sunday Mr. Smith, a kind and good 
man, took Merton across the rolling prairie to his different 
appointments, Mrs. Merton, for the first time, accompany¬ 
ing him. The intense pleasure Merton felt at having his 
wife with him, can be fully understood by that man only 
who is blessed with a woman beautiful, accomplished, and 
lovable for his wife. The husband’s love for such a woman 
is well expressed by Tennyson: 

She is coming, my own, my sweet; 

Were it ever so airy a tread, 

My heart would hear her and beat, 

Were it earth in an earthy bed; 

My dust would hear her and beat, 

Had I lain for a century dead; 

Would start and tremble under her feet, 

And blossom in purple and red. 

At eight o’clock in the morning, they sprang into the 
little carriage drawn by two fleet and pretty ponies, and 
started for the fields of labor; the first of which, after a few 
miles of round-about driving, they reached about the 
time for morning service. After delivering a sermon, at 
this place, based on the words, “I will not leave you 


THE CURSE OF AVARICE. 


89 


comfortless,” Merton started for the next appointment, 
Hibernia, seven miles distant. On their way they took 
dinner at the house of one of the principal members—a 
dinner composed largely of vegetables and a wonderful 
preserve made, as the good lady informed Merton, by 
boiling tomatoes in molasses. As Merton ate it, he 
hoped that the recipe for its preparation would be forgot¬ 
ten by the next generation. It was nearly black, and had 
to Merton a very disagreeable taste. With the color of 
this rare preserve, the table-cloth and the walls of the 
dining-room seemed to perfectly correspond. So this 
good church-member was not only religious, but she had, 
as we see, an eye to unity and conformity. 

Leaving the house of this good Samaritan, they hur¬ 
ried on to Hibernia. On their way they came upon some 
wild plums, which they ate with a relish. They were 
glad at having such delicious dessert to banish from their 
palates the taste of the pitchy composite they had just 
been compelled to swallow. 

The meeting at Hibernia was a great success. The 
services opened with the singing of the well-known hymn, 
“A charge to keep I have;” and, surely, such a discord¬ 
ant, rasping clamor was never before heard. Mrs. Mer¬ 
ton afterwards said it was like the sharpening of ten- 
thousand saws all at once. At the close of the sermon, 
which was based upon the words, “Escape thee to the 
mountain, escape for thy life, lest thou perish,” the prin¬ 
cipal members thanked Merton for the discourse; and 
promised to raise a large portion of his salary, if he 
preached to them every alternate Sunday. Merton could 
not help regarding such a people favorably, uncouth and 
ignorant as they evidently were. 

From Hibernia they drove on to Micropolis, the last 
appointment for the day. Here Merton preached from 


90 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


the words, “Behold I have spoken to you from heaven.” 

After the discourse, Merton spoke plainly of the con¬ 
dition of things—of what he thought had to be done, if he 
remained with them. “You know, my dear friends,” he 
said, “that I have no conveyance to take me from one 
point to another. I hardly think that any of you can ex¬ 
pect me, myself, to invest in a horse and buggy to do the 
work, when I am not certain of receiving enough for the 
bare necessities of life. I put the question to you as 
business men. Who of you would be willing to make 
such an investment on similar hopes of return ? Briefly, 
the case is thus: If you will provide me with board and 
proper accommodations for myself and wife, and with means 
to travel from one point to another, I will remain with 
you, without any further promised salary; if you can not 
do this, I must leave you. I shall expect a definite an¬ 
swer to this proposition in a few days. You must, gen¬ 
tlemen, do what you think best in the premises.” 

After the service they begged him not to think of 
leaving. One man who hitherto had given scarcely any¬ 
thing toward church-work, offered thirty dollars a }^ear 
toward his support. Mr. Truthful said: “We’ve got you 
here now, and you must not leave us. The people never 
came to preaching before, as they do now; and our hopes 
were never so bright as at present. Last night I scarcely 
slept, thinking of you, and how best to manage this work. 
I knew we had a man with us now, who was capable of 
building us up, and that he was talking of leaving. The 
more I thought over the matter, the more it seemed to 
me, your leaving would be a terrible blow to all our ex¬ 
pectations. I do hope something may be done to hold 
you here; I’m sure I’m ready to do my part.” 

Merton replied: “I am sure of that, Mr. Truthful, 
from what you have already done for. me. But I think 


THE CURSE OF AVARICE. 


91 


you cannot but see the justice and wisdom of what I have 
said. Should I stay, I know well that such as you would 
make my burden a part of your own; but I can not see you 
crushed with such a disproportionate care for my welfare. 
If the people want me, they must do their part; for 
whether for weal or woe, I will not stay otherwise. In 
this matter, Mr. Truthful, I must and will be independent. 
I’m glad I said what I said. Let the people decide. It 
will be better for both you and me. You must cheer up. 
If I go away, you will have no bitter regrets. You have 
done nobly; for which I thank you. And, don’t forget, 
if you have no preacher here, such a man as you may 
worship God in your own home; for you carry Him about 
with you in your heart, the real temple where God de¬ 
lights to dwell. ’ ’ 

The day’s work was ended. It was quite late; and 
there yet lay before Merton a long ride over the prairie, 
before he would come to his resting-place. 

“You must be very tired,” said Merton to his wife. 
“I fear this long ride has been too much for you.” 

“O no! It has been one of the happiest days of my 
life. And what a pleasure it has been to me, to know 
that I have been by your side! Besides, Harry, it helps 
one to be somewhat reconciled to living in such a place as 
this, when he sees how eager the people are to hear the 
truth. I think the congregation at Hibernia did nobly. 
If only your other people would do as well as they, there 
would be no trouble about our getting along in this place. 
It is true, I shall never forget their horrid singing; but 
when I think of that, I shall also remember their earnest¬ 
ness and generosity. If I could have a circuit composed 
wholly of such folks, I would not care if it were in the 
wilderness, I would like to be a preacher myself; but if 
I’m not a preacher, I’m a preacher’s wife, and that’s the 


92 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUT. 


next thing to it; isn’t it, Harry?” 

“By no means,” answered Merton. “You are not 
the next thing to a preacher, but a thousand times ahead 
of him. I would rather have you than all the preachers 
in the state; and if you add to these all those in the Holy 
Land, I still prefer you. 

‘Was ist mir alles Leben gegen dich und meine Liebe.’ 

If you want them, you can take the preachers. I would 
rather hear one of your sermons than all the preachers’ 
harangues ever delivered. I say with Deucalion: 

‘ Ncimqne ego , crede mihi , si te quoque font us haberet , 

Te sequercr , eonjunx , et me quoque font us haberet ” 

“Harry, you are always full of your naughty talk. I 
am afraid you will never lose your mischievous spirit.” 

About this time the grasshoppers filled the country. 
They looked,when flying under a bright sun, like falling 
snow-flakes. They devoured everything green in their 
way; filled the houses, and made the water almost un¬ 
drinkable. They would, strange to say, devour even 
what tobacco-chewers call, “an old quid.” 

On the following Sunday, Merton preached, in the 
morning, at Smith’s; in the afternoon, at Centre; and, in 
the evening, at Micropolis. At the last place his subject 
was based on Heb. ix. 13; Rev. xix. 6. 

The room at Micropolis was very full, the air over¬ 
heated, and charged with the odor of tobacco. Being 
sickened himself, and seeing very many ladies in, perhaps, 
a worse condition, Merton rebuked the practice of whole¬ 
sale and indiscriminate tobacco-spitting, in language as 
mild as possible; but not without creating some ill-feeling. 
Said Mr. Truthful, after the service was over: “I do wish, 
Mr. Merton, you had not spoken of tobacco-spitting. It 
is a dirty practice, but one which every one, almost, is 
guilty of here, I’ve heard nothing but good this week 


THE CURSE OF AVARICE 


93 


about our preacher; but now I shall hear many say,‘Your 
preacher had better mind his own business.’ It’s hard for 
people to break off such habits. ’ ’ 

“But, Mr. Truthful, had that nuisance not been stop¬ 
ped,! should have been unable to proceed with the services. 
I was already sick at the stomach. I protested in very 
mild language; and the favor I asked, I’m sure, should 
have been willingly granted. I would not gladly offend 
any one. I have never used tobacco in any form, and 
although I like well enough a little of its odor, I could 
not possibly endure the foul filth expectorated before my 
eyes from the mouths of a whole congregation. If the 
people are so wedded to this practice that they cannot give 
it up, while the services are proceeding, I have another 
reason for leaving. ’ ’ 

That night, while returning on horseback from his 
work, as tired as ever man could be, about five miles from 
Micropolfs, and several from any house, Merton saw, as 
he thought, sitting on their haunches, three large, stray 
dogs. When riding along he had been thinking of his 
circumstances; and considering all things, he felt greatly 
disheartened. Every Sunday he was forced to travel about 
thirty miles to reach his different appointments, always 
depending on some one’s good will for a horse to ride on. 
As yet he had no house, no place to call home, not even 
an acceptable lodging-place; and he felt in his heart no 
bright prospects for the future. For himself,his heart was 
sore enough; but as he thought of his wife, he felt more 
impatient, and concluded something should be done. 
While thus reflecting, he was brought within about fifteen 
feet to the animals, when he realized, to his horror, that 
they were three large, grey wolves. The stars were 
shining most beautifully, and the moon was moving 
through the heavens in all her unveiled glory. As he 


94 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUR. 


passed the animals he clapped his hands, and shouted at 
the glaring-eyed monsters. No sooner had he done this 
than,with a frightful howl,they sprang at the horse. The 
latter gave a snort, and dashed away so suddenly, that 
Merton almost lost his balance, and came very near falling 
off. It was a young horse, and as yet had hardly been 
worked. Over the prairie went the beautiful, intelligent, 
and frightened creature, like the very lightning, pursued 
by the maddened, hungry wolves, which were all the time 
trying to get at Merton’s feet. He scarcely hoped, know¬ 
ing what a poor rider he was, to escape their distended 
jaws. In a short time they had succeeded in pulling out 
from under the saddle, a blanket which Mr. Smith had 
spread there, and which, at this time, must have been 
hanging low down at the horse’s side. As soon as this 
was done, they.stopped pursuing Merton; and the whole 
prairie seemed resonant with the howls of the ferocious 
beasts. But even though no longer pursued, the horse 
would not be checked. On it rushed like a meteor, until 
it dashed into the yard of its owner. There stood Mr 
Smith wondering what could have happened, and there 
stood the horse shaking and trembling like a leaf. 

While pursued by the wolves, Merton’s thoughts 
would often revert to his wife; and he earnestly prayed 
that he might not be taken from her, and she be left a 
stranger in a strange land, without money or friends. 

Eight o’clock the following Saturday night, Merton 
left the residence of Mr. Soulless,and in the darkness made 
his way across the prairie to the residence of Mr. Smith. 
It had come to Merton’s knowledge that the former had 
loaned the latter quite a sum of money, and that he was 
exacting fifteen per cent interest. Mr. Smith was a very * 
poor man who had known better days, but who now was 
living in abject poverty. His wife, surrounded by wretch- 


THE CURSE OF AVARICE. 


95 


edness and want, was fast falling a prey to anxiety and 
care. Merton could not help feeling deeply for them in their 
miserable state; and he hoped, by speaking to Mr.Soulless, 
that he might persuade him to exact less interest; but he 
had misjudged him. He was hard-hearted, unfeeling, un¬ 
scrupulous, caring little for the wail of the orphan, the 
cry of the widow, or the bloody sweat of the unfortunate 
borrower that might be in his hands, provided only he got 
his fifteen per cent; and yet this man was a prominent 
member of the church; indeed! he was the very pillar of it. 

“O, what a goodly outside falsehood hath!” 

When Merton spoke to him of the unfortunate cir¬ 
cumstances of Mr. Smith, and of the wretched condition 
of his wife and family; how he was heavily in debt, and 
had to pay fifteen per cent, an interest, Merton said, ruin¬ 
ous to any borrower, he got very angry, and, as it were, 
cried out in the words of Shy lock: 

“The pound of flesh which I demand of him, 

Is dearly bought, ’tis mine, and I will have it.” 

Merton was very sorry to have offended him, but 
wished, if it were possible, to make him deal mercifully 
with Mr. Smith, who was a member of the same church, 
and certainly in most deplorable circumstances. 

“If 'you do not approve of my business conduct, Mr. 
Merton,” said Mr. Soulless, “you can leave my house, 
sir, and leave it to-night.” 

“I do not approve of your business conduct with Mr. 
Smith, sir,” said Merton; “nor do I think that either law 
or Gospel will justify any man in charging another fifteen 
per cent for the loan of money, at the same time demand¬ 
ing first-class security.” 

“I have loaned Mr. Smith, sir, money on several oc¬ 
casions; and what I have loaned him, I shall expect him 
to return according to agreement.” 


96 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


‘‘I understand, Mr. Soulless,” replied Merton, “that 
you have done as you say; and, without much doubt, as 
you have already taken from him, little by little, much 
that he once possessed, so will you in due time take from 
him the balance; for I insist, no farmer can possibly pay 
fifteen per cent, and save his farm.” 

“My business, sir, is my own, and something with 
which you have nothing to do. As you have presumed 
to meddle with it, I have already said what you can do.” 

“Mr. Soulless, I have heard you express your desire, 
and it will immediately be complied with, though we 
were to use the prairie for a bed, and a stone for a pillow. 
We shall not again meddle with your business, nor with 
you. It may be, however, that some day God may 
meddle with it. Let us hope that He may, that justice 
may be done both to you and Mr. Smith. I am sure, as 
a member of the church, you ought to be Satisfied with 
God’s judgment.” 

“A moment ago, sir, you said you were going to com¬ 
ply with my desire; let me ask you to do so immedi¬ 
ately.” 

Thereupon Merton collected the few things he had 
there, and by the aid of a lantern, went out into the dark¬ 
ness, leaving Mrs. Soulless and her daughter in floods of 
tears. These ladies besought Merton to look over Mr. 
Soulless’ actions, and remain with them; but he felt the 
insult was too great, honorably any longer to continue as 
their guest. The mother and daughter were greatly 
pained at parting with Mrs. Merton; but thanking them 
for all they had done for her, with an affectionate kiss she 
bade them good night, never to see them again. 

Mr. Smith lived about three-quarters of a mile dis¬ 
tant, and in the darkness Merton found it very difficult to 
find his residence. After some wandering about, he was 


THE CURSE OF AVARICE. 


97 


glad to find a light in the window; and from the character 
of the man, he knew well that it was for him, or any 
others in like circumstances. 

On opening the door, Mr. Smith was amazed to find 
Mr. and Mrs. Merton there, seeking shelter for the night. 
They were willingly admitted, and given the best the 
house afforded. 

Next morning, at the breakfast table, Mr. Smith said: 
“It is a wonder to me, Brother Merton, that you could 
stay there as long as you have. Mr. Soulless is a very 
passionate man, ready to bite any one who may by chance 
come in his way. His soul is as hard as his money, and 
that’s hard enough to grind out the life of any man. It 
is my fault, of course, that I ever got into his power; but 
I fear I have now as little chance of escape, as the fly in 
the claws of the spider. ’ ’ 

“I am sorry, Mr. Smith, that the unpleasantness oc¬ 
curred between me and Mr. Soulless,’’ replied Merton; 
“but I thought, and think, it was my duty to do as I did 
Since it has occurred, it has determined me to leave this 
place, and leave it immediately. I have no home, 
no conveyance to take me from point to point, no 
proper boarding-place, nothing, indeed, that can make 
life bearable for me and my wife. To stand this any 
longer, would be degrading to myself, and insulting to 
her. I shall bid this place farewell this week. ’ ’ 

“Under the circumstances, Brother Merton, I could 
not blame you; especially since this trouble has occurred 
between you and Mr. Soulless, who would now make 
your stay here as unpleasant as he possibly could. Being 
the pillar of the church, it is in his power to do you not a 
little harm. No, sir, I could not blame you for your 
decision. Personally I am very sorry to see you go; but 
as things are going, I do not think I can long remain 


9 8 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


here. I fear I shall soon lose the little I have, being 
completely in his power, and especially since I am not as 
strong as I was. From my very heart I pray that, 
wherever you may go, God may bless you.” 

Merton no more doubted that Mr. Smith was sincere 
in his prayer, than that he himself had labored in vain 
with a christless Christian for justice to his fellow-man. 
While Mr. Soulless could make an affecting prayer, and 
give an ideal experience, he could smile at the misfortune 
of the widow, and laugh at the calamity of the fatherless. 

Ilium et labentem Teucri et risere ndtantem , 

Et salsos rident revomentein pectore fluctus. ( Vergil: Aen. v. 181.) 


CHAPTER IX. 


LAMPS WITHOUT OIL. 


Extemplo Libyae magnas it Faina per urbes — 

Faina , malluin qua non aliud velocius ullum , 

Mobilitate viget , virisque adquirit eundo: 

Parva metu primo , mox sese attollit in auras , 
Ingrediturque solo , e/ caput inter nubila condit .— 
Instantly Rumor rushes through the great cities of Libya— 
Rumor, a monster than which no other is more swift. 

She thrives on her mobility, and acquires force by going: 

At first small through fear, soon she lifts herself into the skies, 
And though treading on the ground, buries her head among 
the clouds. ( Vergil'. Aen. iv. 17s.) 


jyj ERTON now sought and obtained an appointment in 
another conference. Having learned that the bish¬ 
op presiding over the assembly was one of his old teach¬ 
ers, Merton called on him, in the morning, before the 
conference was opened. 

“From what I know of you, Bro. Merton,” said the 
bishop, “I judge you have acted unwisely in coming out 
west. You are not the kind of man, nor is your wife the 
kind of woman, that is wanted here. You would have 
done much better, had you remained in a more civilized 
community. This conference is quite full, as it is; no good 
appointment is vacant, that I know of; and for the few 
good places to be had, there are already twice too many 
applicants. I know of only one place not already pro¬ 
vided for, Moth and Mazar. If you choose to go there, I 
will see that you have the opportunity. It is a very un¬ 
desirable appointment. Something better would be done 
for you next year, undoubtedly ; and I will have a small 

missionary appropriation made, to help you out this year. 

99 


100 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


But I doubt very much that you and Mrs. Merton can 
live on the income you will receive there. Still, if you 
wish to try it, you can.” 

Merton replied that as things were, he thought it 
better to accept such work as the conference had at its 
command, and to trust to the future for something better. 
The appointment was given him ; and soon he was on the 
cars rushing toward his destination. While thus travel¬ 
ling, he met a bishop and a minister of the Protestant 
Episcopal Church: 

“You are returning from the conference, I presume,” 
said the bishop. 

“Hardly returning, sir,” answered Merton, “but 
rather coming. I am a total stranger to this part of the 
world, having just received my first appointment. I am 
but a short time out of the schools ; and I am really long¬ 
ing to be at my post of duty.” 

Having inquired concerning Merton’s education, 
nationality, and early faith, and being informed, the 
bishop replied: 

“It seems to me very strange, Mr. Merton, why such 
a man as you could be contented in your church home. 
The Episcopal Church is really the same as the English ; 
it is also in great need of men who are, like yourself, 
educated, and energetic. I hope, Mr. Merton, that you 
may think of the claims of your mother church; and, if 
possible, come over to us. We will give you a hearty 
welcome, and send you to preach the faith once delivered 
to the saints. I am sure you would be much happier in 
your mother’s house. The prayer-book would be very 
becoming in your hands; although it has been a stranger 
to you so long. We would kill the fatted calf, and make 
merry at your return. I ask you, Mrs. Merton, to use 
your influence with your husband, and seek to bring him 



LAMPS WITHOUT OIU. 


IOI 


back to his old allegiance. * ’ 

“Bishop,” replied Mrs. Merton, “you can depend on 
me doing my best. I greatly prefer the Episcopal Church 
to any other, because of her forms as well as her history.” 

“Mr. Merton,” said the bishop, “I will take the pleas¬ 
ure, at my earliest opportunity, of mailing you a prayer- 
book, and a copy of the canons; and if you wish, you can 
take orders with us in one year from now. Your duty is 
clear, and the path is easy.” 

The bishop was quite a gentlemanly-looking man, and 
made a good impression on Mr. and Mrs. Merton. 

Having finished his conversation with the bishop, who, 
in the meantime, had lelt the cars, Merton was approach¬ 
ed by the minister who had had charge of his appoint¬ 
ment the preceding year. After introducing himself, he 
said: 

“Bro. Merton, I feel it my duty to warn you of Bro. 
Squareman. He is a very peculiar man indeed, always 
ready to make mischief in the church, and to speak evil of 
his neighbors. Be very careful how you treat him. If you 
show much regard' for him, your chief members will be 
offended; if you show little, he is likely to lose his soul. 
He thinks he has not been well treated; blames the min¬ 
ister, blames the brethren, blames everybody. Nor is his 
wife much different. She is one of those' evil-tongued 
women ready to explode at any moment, and as full of 
danger as a powder-magazine. The relations of this 
brother and sister with the church are at present very 
much strained; and the least friction will break the last 
remaining link that binds them to you. In your congre¬ 
gation you will find another man, Bro. Headstrong, a man 
full of zeal, but fuller still of ignorance and perversity. He 
wants a good deal to say; but you can stand that, since he 
pays well. Between Bros. Headstrong and Squareman 


102 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


there is a very bitter feeling arising from an old sore. We 
had a church trial about it; but ho good ever resulted. 
Indeed, I think it made the matter worse. This feeling 
does lots of mischief in the circuit. You are going to an 
extremely difficult charge, one poor in money, but rich 
in quarrels. God give you grace to conquer.” 

Merton thanked the gentleman for his advice; at the 
same time, he could not help feeling that he should have 
felt happier, had he never received it. He had but a mo¬ 
ment to wait, however, before another good brother ap¬ 
proached him, and said: 

“I think the bishop must have lost his head, to send 
you where you are going, Bro. Merton. It does appear 
to me sometimes that if our appointments were all put into 
a bag, and shaken up, and drawn by the preachers blind¬ 
folded, they would be more appropriately filled than they 
are to-day. I am truly sorry that you are going to Moth 
and Mazar.” 

“Why so, sir? n asked Merton. 

‘‘I have preached there, Bro. Merton, and know the 
people well. You will not remain six months, and should 
not. They never have had a minister whom they did not 
abuse, and I guess never will. You will find no rose§ in 
your path there, I assure you; but thorns grow there ev¬ 
erywhere, and plenty of them, too. I don’t wish to dis¬ 
hearten you, God knows; but I speak the truth. You are 
not going to the people who need you, you are going where 
you will spend your energies in vain; and take my word 
for it.” 

The minister having returned to his own seat, Mrs. 
Merton said: “It seems to me that all the powers of dark¬ 
ness combine, on this train, to dishearten you, before you 
even know the people to whom you are sent. They speak 
of members abusing one another! If this is not abuse that 


LAMPS WITHOUT OIL. 


103 


I have heard from them, then I do not know what abuse 
is; I must not only be in a strange land, but I must also 
hear a strange language. I wonder if they are a fair sam¬ 
ple of the whole! Surely they are spiritually dead. Yet, 
how fair the corpse looks at a distance!” 

“Never mind, darling,” replied Merton. “You are 
not yet confederate against me; and, until that happens, 
I shall not lose courage. Ministers are but flesh and blood. 
It may be they mean well; and, perhaps, what they have 
said, may really be of great use to me. ket us hope such 
may be the case, anyhow. ’ * 

“Flesh and blood you say, Harry! I hardly know. By 
looking at them, we can see they have flesh enough; but 
that they have any blood in them, I am not certain; they 
certainly appear to act altogether as bloodless creat¬ 
ures. Such evil words and such discouragement! I feel 
I shall, ere long, greatly modify my childish ideas about 
the profession to which you belong. I very much doubt 
that they are either as harmless as doves, or wise as 
serpents. I don’t believe that what they have told you,is 
worth remembering. If I were you, I would go to my 
appointment as if I had never heard anything about the 
people, and not with prejudice in my heart against them. 
I wish those preachers would mind their own business,and 
let us alone. ” 

“Say no more about it,darling, ’’replied Merton. “We 
are come now; and I expect we shall find some one here 
waiting for us. ’ ’ 


CHAPTER X. 

FAITH WITHOUT WORKS. 
alkv d\d\r]fxa ol£uv— 

Wherever I roam, suffering unceasingly attends me. 

{Homer : Od. xi. 167.) 

IT was a strange place to which Merton had come. The 
town was composed chiefly of one short street, formed 
of detached, low-built houses, and dilapidated stores. The 
side-walks were as irregular as waves on the ocean’s beach; 
and in front of the stores, sat men puffing volumes of smoke 
from their cherished pipes, and talking of politics and re¬ 
ligion. Among them was Mr. Smalleyes, who had come 
for the purpose of taking Merton,in his carriage,to his new 
appointment, a place ten miles distant from the railroad 
depot. 

Merton was to preach at three points, namely, Mazar, 
Moth, and Budds. At Mazar,his place of residence, there 
was neither church nor meeting-house, but the rudiments 
of a village; at Moth there was a nice little church,but no 
village; and at Budds there was neither church nor village, 
the preaching being done in a school-house. 

In making his pastoral visits, Merton first called on 
Mrs. Rattlebones. Here poverty reigned, her prime- 
ministers being laziness and intemperance. Merton was 
not invited to a seat, for there was no such thing in the 
house. Filthy as this dwelling was, they knelt together 
in prayer; and the heart of the wretched woman seemed 
comforted. The chief cause of the filth and squalor sur¬ 
rounding this poor creature, who had seen better days,was 
her good-for-nothing husband, who roamed at large as a 
philosopher, when he was not drunk in the nearest village. 

104 


FAITH WITHOUT WORKS. 


105 


A short time after making this visit, Merton was play¬ 
ing a game of croquet with the Misses Smalleye3,when Mr. 
Rattlebones chanced to pass by. Seeing Merton, he 
entered the yard, approached him, and said: 

“Wa-a -1 now! I have.played at almost every kind of 
game in Christendom, and with almost all the ladies in 
this yer country; but that game beats me. What do you 
call it?” 

Merton answered it was croquet, at the same time in¬ 
viting him to join them. 

“I reckon not,” he replied. “Whenever I indulge in 
such low games, I allers find myself unfit afterwards for 
higher pursuits. Different men have different constertu- 
tions. It may be that I was made a leetle too fine for the 
common things of this yer world; but we all, you know, 
must do the best we know how with the stuff the Man 
above has given us. At least them’s my sentiments. I 
don’t say this to disturb the elder. Perhaps he’s one of 
those tough ones; if so, I say go right on,and enjoy your¬ 
selves. If I could so demean myself, I would jine you in 
a minute.” 

What reply could be given such a man? Merton 
looked at him for a moment,and saw what might be called 
the very incarnation of drunkenness. His limbs were 
trembling, his eyes blood-shot, his visage pale and 
shriveled, his whole frame fleshless, and his general 
appearance revolting in the extreme. After a moment’s 
hesitation, Merton replied: 

“You do right, sir, in not abusing your finely consti¬ 
tuted organism, or impairing your very delicate, mental 
powers; but I sincerely hope that you’ll never use any 
other means more likely to accomplish these results, than 
the playing at croquet.” 

“You can bet on that, elder,” he said, “I allers take 


106 FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUR. 

care of myself. The Man above commands us to do that; 
and my mother brought me up that way. Train a child 
up, elder, in the way he should go; and when he comes 
old, he’ll not depart from it. That’s Gospel, elder, isn’t 
it?” 

Mr. Smalleyes then made his appearance. After shak¬ 
ing hands with Merton, he said: 

“That was a fine sermon you gave us yesterday, elder; 
everybody was much delighted. To-day they are all 
talking of our good luck in getting you here. Our last 
preacher was one of the best we’ve ever had in Moth; and 
he was as lazy as he could be. Mr. Beereyed said that 
he should have been sent to chop wood, the only thing 
Nature had fitted him to do. Before this fellow, we had a 
preacher who was enough to disgust anybody. Even 
while preaching his sermon,he would chew and spit to¬ 
bacco; and when visiting us, he not unfrequently would 
lift the rug,and spit under it. I have seen him spit right 
across the parlor. It is because of such men, Brother 
Merton, that our church here has been disgraced, and 
made a nest of discord. 

“Iam glad,” replied Merton, “that the people are 
pleased at my efforts; but I am truly sorry to know that 
there is such a thing as a nest of discord here. Yesterday 
I saw very many intelligent people in the congregation; I 
must say that I was surprised at their general appearance. 
With such intelligence, how can you permit a nest of dis¬ 
cord to be found in your social tree? There was one lady 
who sat in front, near the aisle. She was a fine-looking 
person, and seemingly well educated. Do you know to 
whom I refer?” 

“The name of that woman, Brother Merton, is Mrs. 
Woundedheart. She is, indeed, an educated woman, and 
therefore the more to be feared. She is the most danger- 


FAITH WITHOUT WORKS. 


107 


ous person in your charge. My advice to you is, keep 
away from her. Although a woman, she has the serpent’s 
sting. Charm you she may at first; but as truly as you 
visit her, so truly will you curse the day.” 

In a few days Merton found himself knocking at the 
door of Mrs. Woundedheart’s residence. He felt a longing 
desire to know something more of this woman with the 
“adder’s sting.” The door was opened by a very pretty 
young girl, of about eighteen years. She recognized 
Merton, and invited him in, saying her mother would be 
there in a moment. 

“How do you do, Brother Merton?” said the lady. 
“This is indeed an unexpected pleasure. I little sup¬ 
posed that our new pastor would dare show such 
kindness to me, while he was staying at our near neigh¬ 
bor’s. I am sorry to tell you, Brother Merton, that I am 
not very regular in my attendance at service; indeed, I 
scarcely ever go to church at all. Our church here is all in 
disorder. I suppose you’ve already discovered that; if 
not, I assure you, you soon will. People have no confi¬ 
dence in the leaders, none at all. My husband will 
never go again. He says he can worship much better 
under the poplar, than with a band of hypocrites. Mr. 
Smalleyes, your leading man, is as mean a man as this 
world has ever known. The truth is, he makes it his 
chief business to lie about me and mine. He tried for 
years to ruin us. We’ve had several law suits with him, 
and there are more to come. He has tried even to blast 
the character of my daughter here, and he has nearly 
ruined my son. He is a very wicked man, and his 
chief assistant is Mr. Beereyed, who is drunk on whiskey 
one day, and full of the Holy Ghost the next. My son 
says that Smalleyes makes the bullets, and that Beereyed 
shoots them. Mr.Smalleyes,you know,is a coward, and gets 


io8 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUT. 


Mr. Beereyed to do openly what he contrives in secret. ’ ’ 

“My dear Mrs. Woundedheart, I do not see how you 
can suppose I should know that Mr. Smalleyes is a cow- 
■ ard. We came to see you, and know you. We wish you 
to come to our services, and help us build up the w r ork. 
Never mind Mr. Smalleyes. Perhaps if you should return 
kindness for the injury you suppose he has done you, it 
might be the best medicine you could give the disease as 
it exists. But do not tell me any more about Mr. Small¬ 
eyes. You are a lady of superior education, of refinement, 
and must know the evil effects of such bitter feeling among 
the scattered parishioners that generally compose these 
country congregations. Under present conditions, no suc¬ 
cessful church work, I fear, is possible. Your minister’s 
'spirit must be broken, and the church pews remain empty, 
unless this bitterness be put away. How much happier 
were your own heart, how much brighter your own home, 
if you would only consent to let that spirit govern you, 
which ever manifested itself in the life of him whose fol¬ 
lowers we profess to be. I do not say the blame lies with 
you; but I do say that a woman so superior to her neigh¬ 
bors as you are known to be, should seek to use the gifts 
with which God has blessed her, to soothe rather than irri¬ 
tate, to comfort rather than trouble, and to win by words 
of kindness rather than repel by provocation. I do believe, 
Mrs. Woundedheart, that no investment brings the human 
soul such wonderful returns as that of kindness or forgive¬ 
ness. And as we invest it, our stock is more and more 
increased, while all the parties interested are equally 
benefited. ’ ’ 

“Excuse me, Mr. Merton,but I feel I must unburden my 
griefs to you; it will greatly help me to do so. I have no de¬ 
sire to speak evil of any one; but I mention who are the 
chief officers in our church here. I gave you but two of the 


FAITH WITHOUT WORKS. 


IO9 


names. Another one is Mr. Longshanks. He is not so bad 
as the other two. His wickedness is chiefly against himself, 
in filling himself up with whiskey, with which he keeps his 
cellar well supplied. He is a trustee ; but nobody puts any 
confidence in his word. If he sells, he gets as much as pos¬ 
sible ; if he buys, he gives as little as possible. As far as 
that goes, his hand is against everybody, and everybody is 
against him ; but, still, I think he is about the best member 
you have in your church here, and he doesn’t profess to 
have any religion ; indeed ! he laughs at it. The best men 
we have here, never go to church ; they have had too much 
of it already. Mr. Hardtocrack, for instance, is as good as 
a man can be ; but he never goes to church. He had a 
very pretty daughter to whom Mr. Smalleyes’ son was en. 
gaged. While in this relation, this young blackguard be¬ 
trayed her. What did his father do? Why he sent him out 
of the country, and left the poor girl to live in open shame. 
Mr. Backslider is another good man. He had made a note 
promising to pay the church authorities the sum of two hun¬ 
dred dollars toward building the church here. Things went 
against him. His note became due ; he couldn’t pay it. 
Mr. Smalleyes thereupon sued him, and forced him to sell 
what little stock he had to meet it. He now spends all his 
spare time in cursing the Methodists. Mr. Blackbird was 
treated in like manner, and to-day is a bitter enemy to the 
church. The minister went around with a subscription- 
paper ; Mr. Blackbird signed it; his promise became due ; 
he was unable to meet it; he was sued, and forced to pay it 
at the expense of selling his stock. Even the church build¬ 
ing was built in a very strange way. They went around 
with a subscription-paper, with the understanding that the 
church should be built, where the majority of the subscribers 
should vote it to be built. When the money was all pledged, 
an official meeting was held, at which it was decided to 


no 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


build it where it now stands, Mr. Smalleyes influencing 
the meeting by promising the church sufficient land to 
keep a cow, and make a garden for the minister. But in 
the deed he gave, he took care to have inserted a clause, 
whereby the land all reverts to him in ten years, unless 
certain conditions are fulfilled. These ten years are almost 
expired; and if you folks are not careful, he will soon possess 
the land again. He has been raising corn on it for years, 
without paying one cent rent. He should be made to pay 
rent in full with interest. With that money they would 
soon have a round sum toward building a parsonage. ’ ’ 

Merton left Mrs. Woundedheart’s with a sore heart. 
She was a woman of education, and had been well raised; 
but her heart was so full of bitterness, that there was 
scarcely room in it for the good thoughts it once contain¬ 
ed, nor for that charity which all should feel for their 
fellow-men. 

Merton had hoped to escape horseback riding by leav¬ 
ing his old appointment; but in this respect his hopes 
were not realized. To reach one of his stations, he had 
now to travel on horseback twenty-eight miles. Yet, for 
many reasons, his present appointment was better than 
the former. His salary was larger and more certain, and 
he had a parsonage to live in. Often, however, his soul 
would rebel against filling his scattered appointments; 
especially when he found such animosity existing in the 
hearts of the members of his charge. The words of the 
bishop, at the conference, were ringing in his ears: 
“You would have done much better, had you remained 
in a more civilized community.’’ And, then, the know¬ 
ledge that so many inferior men filled the most important 
positions, made his lot still harder to bear. At such times 
the words of Marcus Aurelius: 

“If a thing is good to be said or done, 

Do not think it unworthy of thee.” 


FAITH WITHOUT WORKS. 


111 


would give him courage to persevere; for, surely, the 
work he was doing was a noble one. 

Merton found the people at Budds far superior to any 
other on his charge, more educated, more united, and 
more generous. It was a pleasure to preach to such. 
On his return he was glad to reveal this fact to Sunshine. 
She was comforted with his report, and said: “I do hope 
you will not hear so much abuse there. Do you not fear 
a person who has so much evil to tell about his neighbor ? 
I myself believe that he who acts thus in regard to an¬ 
other, will do so in regard to us, when any occasion 
arises, real or imaginary. She who carries a secret in her 
open hand, hides a dagger in her sleeve. Do you not 
fear its point?” 

‘‘Sunshine, I confess I do; but I will try to wear an 
impenetrable armor. There is plenty of poisonous mi¬ 
asma on my circuit. Its poison, I think, can best be 
guarded against by keeping within the influence of the 
rays of your sun. I do believe a woman like you has a 
very subduing power over the naughty tongues of still 
more naughty people. When we come to open war, I 
think I will push you to the front. Wouldn’t that be the 
right way to do ?” 

‘‘It would certainly be the way for you to escape, if 
you would like to do that at the cost of my life; but I have 
no fear of going to the front. I know you will take care 
of me, Harry; but how to take care of you, is the prob¬ 
lem.” 

‘ ‘Sunshine, we will walk a straight course; and let us 
hope and pray that God will take care of us both.” 

“Harry, how do you really like your work? I’m 
afraid that your endeavor to bring harmony out of the 
existing discord, and order out of the present chaos, will 
make you ill, or break you completely down. Day and 



112 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUR. 


night you think of nothing else than how best to heal old 
sores, unite divided parts, and get a little bread to eat. 
The work you are doing, is noble, no doubt; but I’m cer¬ 
tain you might do a similar work in a more agreeable 
place. The seed you sow is more than the harvest you 
can expect to reap.” 

“Sunshine, do not forget the lines: 

‘We have no right to bliss, 

No title from the gods to welfare and repose.’ ” 

“Repose is one thing, Harry, and agreeable activity 
another. I do not ask repose or bliss, but such activity 
as may be conducive to the real good of all concerned.” 

“Here is Mr. Smalleyes, Sunshine. L,et us hear what 
he has to say about my prospects in Mazar. ’ ’ 

“Mr. Smalleyes,” said Merton, “there is a good deal 
of apparent, spiritual life in the church people at Mazar. 
Mr. Fraudulent especially appears to be an unusually act¬ 
ive man.” 

“Have you ever been at his house, Mr. Merton?” 

“No, sir; I have not been there as yet. I hope, how¬ 
ever, to go very soon.” 

“Don’t be in a hurry, Mr. Merton; I think you’ll be 
satisfied with one visit. They have a large farm, and are 
considered very well-to-do; but they are extremely dirty 
people. There is a sickening odor in their house; and 
the old woman and the young wife have faces as black 
as a man’s hat. His family, however, are cleanliness 
itself when compared to his cousin’s. In the home of the 
latter, you might plow up the dirt. But, then, it is use¬ 
less, and perhaps wrong in me telling you who will know 
it soon enough. Besides, I am not a man to talk about 
my neighbors. I say, let every man find out for himself. 
It is more satisfactory all around.” 

“Has Mr. Fraudulent been a member very long? He 


FAITH WITHOUT WORKS. 


”3 


seems to be a man of genuine piety.” 

“That’s a man, Mr. Merton, who, like myself, is a 
trustee of the church; but I wouldn’t trust him for a cent, 
unless I wished to lose it. I believe he would cheat his 
own mother, if he could. He is the tightest man about 
here to drive a bargain; he’ll stand bantering an hour for 
a cent. You’ll know Bro. Fraudulent soon enough, un¬ 
less I’m greatly mistaken. As an officer of the church, I 
have often had occasion to come into intercourse with 
him. He is a hard case, I assure you.” 

Shortly after this, Mr. and Mrs. Merton accepted an 
invitation to spend two weeks at the residence of Mr. 
Longshanks, who was a very wealthy farmer, and had a 
charming woman for a wife. He was the owner of about 
two square miles of as valuable land as could be found in 
the state, and had it stocked with a great number of fine 
cattle. Both he and his wife were also well educated. 
Under the circumstances, a very pleasant visit was antici¬ 
pated. 


8 


CHAPTER XI. 

IMPUTED RIGHTEOUSNESS. 


<rol S’ aid KpaSir] aTepeuTtpr] iarl \idoto — 

Always is that heart of thine harder than stone. 

(Homer: Od. xiii. 10 y). 

Mr. and Mrs. Merton drove up to the house, Mr. 

Longshanks came out and welcomed them. 

“Ha! ha! ha!” he said. “This is just what I and the 
old woman have been looking for. We’re going to feed 
you on red-legged chickens, if they don’t run under the 
barn. I want to feed you up, so that you may give us 
another discourse like that you gave us last Sunday. It 
makes me feel happy, when I think of the God-send we 
have this year. Ha! ha! ha! Well, w r e’ll do our best. 
Come in; come in. I want to have a good time to-day.” 

In a short time it was arranged for Mrs. Longshanks 
and Mrs. Merton to visit the city together, thus leaving 
Mr. Longshanks and Merton alone. They were seated in 
the parlor, when Mr. Longshanks began: 

“Well, Brother Merton, tell us how you like this great 
and glorious country; and tell us how you like your 
charge. Don’t you think that the American Eagle should 
flap its wings a little more proudly, when hovering over 
such a country as this?” 

“I think it is a beautiful country,sir,” replied Merton; 
“and I hope to see prosperity in it. That, however, must 
depend not a little on such as yourself. A good many 
make light work of doing what one could never 
accomplish.” 

‘ T presume I shall do my part, anyhow,Brother Merton; 
but I don’t go in much, and never did, on religion. I may 
as well say the truth about the matter. I know I’m a 
a church member and a steward; that I’ll readily confess; 


IMPUTED RIGHTEOUSNESS. 115 

and I believe I’m what they call a trustee but that ends it. 
I don’t profess to be a saint like some of your brethren.” 

“ It seems to me. Mr. Longshanks, that a thing that’s 
worth doing, is worth doing well. If religion is worth hav¬ 
ing, it is worth having in its purity. It is good for a man to 
live every day, as if it were his last day.” 

“ That I don’t believe is possible, Bro. Merton. I con¬ 
sider such sentimentality good enough for poetry, but it 
doesn’t make good prose.” 

“ I think it does, Mr. Longshanks. Such a life consists 
simply of doing one’s duty. Surely, that is not impossible. 
Nelson expected every man to do that.” 

“ Many beautiful sayings have come from the lips of men 
in great distress, or great peril; but take*life as we find it, 
and I deny that it is possible at all times, and under all cir¬ 
cumstances, to do exactly one’s duty.” 

“ I should hardly think a Christian would have a lower 
idea of life’s possibilities than a heathen, Mr. Longshanks ; 
yet we hear Marcus Aurelius saying : 

“ ‘ Since it is possible that thou mayest depart from life 
this moment, regulate every act and thought accordingly.’ ” 

“I hope, Bro. Merton, to make some progress in religion 
this winter; but the truth is, we’ve had such a pack of 
howling fools sent us to preach, that I’m almost sick of the 
name of religion. The last fellow we had sent us, would 
stand upon the platform, Sabbath after Sabbath, and deliver 
what he called sermons, something that showed neither 
brains nor religion, a kind of hotel hash ; but he would 
faithfully visit us, whenever he wanted a five-dollar bill. He 
was accused of lying, stealing, laziness and tale-bearing. 
The greatest fault I had to find in him, was that he hadn’t 
brains enough to last him over night He, however, was 
about the best we’ve had. At one time we had a great re¬ 
vivalist here, who took with the people immensely, as he was 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUR. 


116 

considered by the brethren a man full of the Holy Ghost 
and of power. It was not long before it was discovered 
that he was an agent for a disreputable house in San Fran¬ 
cisco, and he came very near getting several young girls in 
his hands. Indeed ! it was through his relations with them, 
that his whole nefarious scheme was brought to light. I tell 
you ! when this became known the brethren were struck 
with consternation, as if by the fall of the tower of Babel. 
My ! what a noise there was in the camp ! The holy 
brethren lost the power to say ‘ amen ’ for a long time. I 
say, Bro. Merton, what do you think of revival methods ? ” 

“ I have never been, Mr. Longshanks, a friend of them. 
I have always seen that as the pendulum swings back again 
on attaining its maximum height, so. the people after the 
spasmodic efforts of revival meetings, fall back to their 
normal state, having spent their energies in vain. In addi¬ 
tion to this, I have witnessed so many evils at such exciting 
meetings, as have made me an enemy to them.” 

“ Well, Merton, you ought to have been present at one 
we had last year. Brother Headstrong, your leading man 
in Mazar, was there. He is the most ignorant man we have 
around ; but he has much to say at the meetings. At the 
one in question, after the preacher had tried to warm up the 
people all in vain, brother Headstrong arose in his seat and 
said : 

“ ‘ Dear friends, the sarpents are among you, the fiery sar- 
pents. You’re in the wilderness of sin. When old Moses 
was leading the children of Israel, the sarpents was sent. 
Did they bite the good folks? ' No, they bit the wicked 
folks. Just so in like manner is it to-night. You can’t see 
them with your material eyes, for the things of this world 
discerneth not the things of God ; but with my spiritual 
eyes I see them all around you, switching their fiery tails. 
Soon they will dart their fiery forks into your poor souls ; 


IMPUTED RIGHTEOUSNESS. 


117 

then what will you do ? Now is the accepted time. Now 
is the day of salvation. One look at the cross, and you are 
saved. And now is the time for Christians to tell these 
poor sinners here what the Lord has done for them. If 
your sins is forgiven, brethren, you know it, and you’ll tell 
it; you’ll proclaim it on the house-top ; the people in Gath 
will hear what God hath done for the children of men. No 
man can set in his seat, and have the power ; and if you 
haven’t the power, you’re none of His. No man with the 
Sperit in his heart, can set still ; for where the Sperit isj 
there is freedom. Why, bless you, brethren and sistern ! I 
donnaw what to do to set still a moment. The power fills 
my whole soul, pushing me onward and upward to the city 
of the New Jerusalem. I fancy I can see them now, with 
all their harps, and flutes ; yes, flutes ! I am one of those 
who loves flutes ; they’re so much like the human voice. 
Rise, brethren ! Tell these sinners how to escape the fiery 
sarpents, before the poison from their fiery tails shall curdle 
through their blood, and they be with the damned cast out 
forever. Rise, my brethren ! or Gabriel may come and 
scourge you.’ 

“ In this way, he went on until I could stand it no longer, 
Merton. I had to burst out into one of my genuine laughs. 
Ha ! ha ! ha ! my laugh was loud and long, and attracted 
the attention of all in the house. For this thing Mr. Head¬ 
strong never forgave me ; but I couldn’t help it for the life 
of me. It was such a farce. I am glad you don’t approve 
of such methods in religion. As for me, as I have already 
said, I don’t profess to have any ; but I guess you’ll find 
me, in the long run, about as good as the best of them. In 
money matters I’m generally on hand, Bro. Merton; and 
this year you can depend on me doubling my former 
yearly subscription. I am willing to pay for a good thing, 
when I have it. As for helping you in the meetings, you’ll 


i8 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUR. 


find enough help and to spare of that sort in brother Head¬ 
strong. He can talk a whole regiment to death, and even 
shut up an average half-dozen women. He’s a camp-meet¬ 
ing in himself alone. But let me advise you to give him 
plenty of rope. Do not cross him. Give him his way; in¬ 
dulge him in his conceit. He pays well, even if he does 
talk more than all the rest put together. Brother Fraudulent 
is another on whom you can depend for a good ghdstly ex¬ 
perience ; but he doesn’t come up to brother Headstrong. 
I say again, give the latter his way. The crazy old loon 
will do nobody any harm, and he can do you lots of good : 
he can fill your pockets. 

“ Let me ask you what is to be done about our church 
debt. I wish to say to you in confidence that I have given 
my last dime to that cause; not to save the whole concern 
from going to David Jones’ locker, would I give another 
cent. We owe nearly a thousand dollars to the Church Ex¬ 
tension Society. If this is not soon paid, the church build¬ 
ing may be sold. For my part, I shouldn’t care if it was; 
and I believe hundreds around here would rejoice. There 
have been far more wranglings and quarrels, since the build¬ 
ing of that thing, than there ever were before; and many 
think a bon-fire is the very best use it could serve. Besides, 
everybody believes that somebody’s pocket-book was pretty 
deep at the building of that church, or that money was 
dropped into a big hole somewhere. Without doubt the 
good brethren who had charge of that matter, are believed, 
in this part of the country, to have fattened up considerably 
on account of it. But, be that as it may, I will not pay any 
more toward the removal of the debt. I have paid my 
share, and Longshanks pays no more. 

“ Say, Bro. Merton, tell us how you enjoyed yourselves 
at the residence of our very polite neighbors, the well known 
and far-famed Smalleyes.” 


IMPUTED RIGHTEOUSNESS. 119 

“ We enjoyed ourselves, while visiting them, very much. 
They seemed to do everything possible for our comfort. 
Indeed, I sometimes felt a little uncomfortable at their 
constant exertions to make things agreeable for us.” 

“Dear me, Merton! how happy I should be, were I 
such a father! But how could Longshanks expect to father 
a child smart enough to set the River Thames on fire! or 
beautiful enough to resemble a cask of lager beer, as Miss 
Columbine does! How charming she looks in her short 
dress! Cleopatria is nothing beside her. What a beautiful 
figure! I wonder that boys should persist in going to the 
city in search for a base-ball, when we have such a charming 
one at home. What a charming bride she’d make! I fancy 
I can see her now. With what grace she moves! Majesty 
decks her brow, and virtue adorns her person. I can see 
her enter the church, swinging on the arm of her beloved. 
There she is — a perfect square, four feet ten by four feet 
ten! Just think of it, almost a hundred and twenty-five 
solid feet! The very thought of it makes my blood, not 
cold, as they say, but almost boil. What a prize for a Her¬ 
cules ! I don’t wonder that it is said that the sons of God 
came down, and took to themselves as wives the daughters 
of men; but I do wonder that no god sees his chance in fair 
Columbine. I wonder who will be the first to enter into the 
Promised Land ? who will be the first to take possession of 
this symmetrically developed, and robust young goddess ? 
who will lay the beds of roses which her fair form may give 
fragrance to ? By my soul, if only I were free ! but I’m 
bound hand and feet, as if to a column-stone; and I fear 
the stone will hold me. In whatever direction you look, 
you see the marks of beauty spreading out from her, as 
limbs from a tree. Happy the man whose fruitful vine is 
she! In the mother we behold' the moon, in the father the 
sun. Or I sometimes compare Mr. Smalleyes to Newton, 


120 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUT. 


and his charming and erudite wife to Sappho. O, yes! I 
understand why you should so appreciate your entertain¬ 
ment there; they are a remarkable family. You’ll find 
that out, more and more, as they have the opportunity 
of displaying to you their wonderful talents. Have a 
little patience, Brother Merton, and your delight will 
rise to ecstasy.” 

They were now interrupted by the entrance of Mrs. 
Longshanks and Sunshine, who had just returned from 
their visit to the city. Merton felt their coming a great 
relief to him; for he hardly knew what reply he could 
have made to such an ironical harangue. Indeed, he was 
longing once more to receive the mild rays which he 
always felt in the presence of his wife. 

“Harry,” said Sunshine, “you can’t imagine how 
kind and attentive Mrs. Longshanks has been to me. She 
seemed forgetful of herself, looking to my little wants. 
When returning I was one time a little afraid; for we were 
pursued by some run-away horses, which almost put the 
spirit of flight into ours. But Mrs.Longshanks is so strong! 
I soon found out there was not much cause for fear with 
her. When speaking of you, she seemed unable to use 
praise enough. She said she never knew a minister she 
liked, as she likes you. She doesn’t profess to have any 
religion; but I really believe that no better heart can be 
found on your charge, than that which beats in the breast 
of Mrs. Longshanks. I am so glad, darling, that she is 
such a friend to you. It does your Sunshine good to hear 
you praised. Who is that, Harry, gone into the other 
room with Mr. Longshanks?” 

“I think it is Mr. Fraudulent, Sunshine. I remember 
hearing Mr. Longshanks say that he was expecting him. 
He wishes to purchase a piece of land from Mr. Long¬ 
shanks. ’ ’ 

“Yes, Mr. Merton,” said Mrs. Longshanks, coming 



IMPUTED RIGHTEOUSNESS. 


121 


into the room, “but I do not know how successful Mr. 
Longshanks will be. The truth is, Mr. Fraudulent 
wishes to purchase it at his own price, and then give his 
note for it.” 

“I should think timber-land the most valuable you 
could possess, Mrs. Longshanks,” replied Sunshine, “in 
a country where so little timber is found growing.” 

“Yes,” said Mrs. Longshanks, “it is; but the piece in 
question is almost valueless to us, since- Mr. Fraudulent 
lives so near it. He has already taken most of the best 
timber, and the balance will soon go the same way. ’ ’ 

“Do you mean to say,” said Merton, “that Mr. 
Fraudulent, a steward in the church, would fell your 
trees, and steal your timber?” 

“Do I mean to say so?” replied Mrs. Longshanks. 
‘‘You had better ask Mr. Popelover, Mr. Merton; he can 
give you all the information necessary on that subject.” 

“Mrs. Longshanks,” Merton continued, “you can 
not think that I would ask for such information concern¬ 
ing any of my people; but I say to you, as to one of my 
own flock, is it possible that you can believe Mr. Fraud¬ 
ulent guilty of theft ?” 

“Well, then, Mr. Merton, I answer emphatically, yes.” 

“I can’t fix him,” said Mr. Longshanks, coming into 
the room. “I have a plan though, and I mean to bring 
him to terms. The farm of Mr. Popelover joins that of 
Fraudulent. They hate one another, and have for years. 
I told Fraudulent that Popelover wanted the land. The 
moment I said that, I saw him wince, as under the smart 
of a whip. He knows well that, if Popelover purchases it, 
the road to his farm, from that quarter, will be cut off; 
while at the same time the Popelover farm will be greatly 
increased in value. Because of this fact, I think I can 
make a lever of the old Popelover to lift Fraudulent with; 


122 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


and if I don’t raise his hair, then my name isn’t what my 
mother gave me.” 

“Mr. Longshanks,” asked Merton, “do you think 
that Mr. Fraudulent offered you a fair price for the land?” 

“That’s not the question, Bro. Merton,” replied Mr. 
Longshanks. “I have the advantage of Fraudulent now, 
for the first time for many years, and I should be a fool 
not to use it. Business is business all the world over. 
Besides, I have no reason for kindness to Fraudulent. If 
I had justice from him, I should receive not onfy a fair 
price for the land, but also the full interest on the value 
of the timber he has stolen during the last ten years. ’ ’ 

“It is terrible, Mr. Longshanks,” said Merton, “to 
hear such an accusation made against a steward in the 
church. How do you suppose I should regard it, were I 
in another house, and should hear the host thus make 
charges against you?” 

“I don’t know how you would regard it,” answered 
Mr. Longshanks; “but one thing I do know, and that is, 
you will not have the opportunity of hearing any host, or 
anybody else, make such charges. Longshanks is well 
known around here; and where he’s known, his word is 
as good as his note.” 

“I say nothing for the purpose of disturbing your 
feelings, Mr. Longshanks,” replied Merton; “but I am so 
sorry that one of my children should be obliged to think 
so much evil of another. I think children of the same 
family, in God’s house, should try to look over one 
another’s faults; and, as much as possible, to aid one 
another in overcoming the difficulties of life. Oh, Mr. 
Longshanks! I sometimes fear the gospel affects the out¬ 
side more than the heart within. Christians appear no 
more merciful or honorable than others in their business 
transactions. I would to God that there were less of 




IMPUTED RIGHTEOUSNESS. 


123 


dead, and more of living, gospels among us.” 

“Gospel or no Gospel, Brother Merton,” replied Mr. 
Longshanks, “my experience is, ‘each one for himself and 
God for us all.’ You can take that for your text anywhere 
in this great state, and it will be received as the only 
sound business principle a man can act upon. As for Mr. 
Fraudulent, any sympathy you may have for him, is un¬ 
necessary, and uncalled for; nor would he thank you for 
it, should he know you gave it to him. Skin for skin is 
his text; and I know well that, if he could, he would eat 
me skin and all. He wouldn’t hesitate to rob his brother, 
which very thing he is believed to have done. I am sorry 
this thing should have occurred in your presence, as you 
seem to have a surplus of what my favorite poet calls the 
milk of human kindness. I think, however, that a few 
years experience in this great state may dry up somewhat 
the fountain which at present yields so plentifully with you. 
Let us hear no more about this subject now. I wish to 
enjoy your company while with us, and for you and your 
wife to have a pleasant visit. You are welcome to any¬ 
thing we have in our house; but, please let Mr. Fraudu¬ 
lent fight his own battles; and as he is a much larger man 
than you are, he surely is able to do it.” 

It was about a month after this conversation that 
Merton, sitting one evening in the parsonage, said to his 
wife: 

“I now know all the stewards and trustees; and I do 
not remember ever hearing one speak well of another. 
I had hoped that the officers of the church would be ex¬ 
emplary men. Instead of that, all I hear is one accusing 
another of lying, stealing, drunkenness, or fraud. My 
life-giving Sunshine! were it not for you, I should sink 
away under the thoughts of my wounded spirit. What a 
farce is the profession of most men! What a superficial 


124 


footprints of a soul. 


effect has the preaching of the Gospel on their lives! It 
is enough verily to shake the faith of any man in Christi¬ 
anity, as the only divine religion, when he knows and sees 
the conduct of its adherents! Do the members of our 
churches live any better lives than those wiio make no 
profession whatever? I have my doubts that they do. The 
ethics of Aristotle or Plato,- who certainly were not 
Christians, would damn to the very depths of hell the 
average church-goer. It was but yesterday that a sincere 
Christian woman said: ‘The churches are full of infidels’, 
'fhere is more truth than fiction in her saying. So-called 
Christian civilization differs from heathenism more be¬ 
cause of its power to wear an outside garb, than because 
of any superior inner qualities.” 

Merton was coming to see more and more that the true 
value of any religious faith, should be measured by its 
power to make men better in this world, the only world 
we know anything about. But such evidence as he had, 
went to prove that professors were no kinder, no more 
charitable, no more merciful, no more forgiving, no more 
honorable in their dealings—in short,no better than those 
who made no profession; indeed, he sometimes thought 
that the latter were the nobler men. Who was he who 
first called on them in their new home, and inquired if 
they were comfortable or not? He was one of the so-called 
children of this world. Who was he who generously 
supplied them with fuel for the winter? Was he a Church 
member? Verily he was not. He was but one of those who 
are said to compose the family of Satan. Truthfully could 
they say: “We w T ere sick, and the world visited us; nak¬ 
ed, and it clothed us; in prison, and the world gave us 
our freedom; hungry, and the world fed us.” Yet,though 
Merton was heart-broken, he could not disbelieve that 
true religion is both natural and valuable to man. He felt 
in his soul convinced that the faith which he professed, 


IMPUTED RIGHTEOUSNESS. 


125 


could not be a true one, could not be a reasonable one; 
and, therefore, not such as might naturally, be expected to 
make its adherents better. Nor was he long in discover¬ 
ing, according to his judgment, the vitiating principle in 
the faith of those to whom he preached; and that principle 
he believed to be faith in the doctrines of vicarious atone¬ 
ment, imputed righteousness, and salvation by faith. He 
could not but see that belief in such doctrines, must tend 
to weaken man’s perception of the relation necessarily 
existing between cause and effect, and make him less fearful 
of doing w^ong from the dread of the penalty necessarily 
resulting. If a man believes he must suffer the conse¬ 
quences of his own actions, he is likely, from fear of suf¬ 
fering, to avoid doing wrong; but if he believe he can lay 
his sins on Jesus, or on any other mediator, he is not likely 
to be so careful of his actions, especially when by erring a 
little, he can, as he thinks, give himself some kind of 
enjoyment or gratification. Being fully persuaded of the 
truth of these conclusions, in all his sermons, he laid but 
little, if any, stress on the doctrines above mentioned, as, 
in his judgment, vitiating; but all stress on character, as 
being the only true test of worthiness in this world or that 
to come. That which would best prepare man to live in 
this world, he held would best prepare him to live in any 
world. His sermons, therefore, would naturally become 
more and more distasteful to the ignorant members of his 
charge, who believed more in the loudness of the shout, 
and the depth of the groan, as the test of righteousness 
and true worth in God’s sight than in the life and action. 
His doctrine they could not well stand; for well they knew 
that if they were to be judged by their works rather than 
their faith, a very large percentage of them would be shut 
completely out of the kingdom of heaven, as being un¬ 
worthy to dwell with those who have washed their robes, 
and made them white, in well doing. 


CHAPTER XII. 

BROTHERLY LOVE. 

Xpeiib p.e Karr/yayev cts ’A Ldao — 

Necessity compels me to go down to Hades. 

(Homer: Od. xi. 164.) 

Merton had not been long established in his new 
charge, when he was pressed to pass a day or .two at the 
residence of Mr. Squareman. This gentleman was a very 
prosperous farmer, living very near the village, and own¬ 
ing a large house having fine orchards and gardens sur¬ 
rounding it. Meeting Merton at the door, Mr. Square- 
man greeted him very heartily; and soon they were seated 
in the comfortable parlor. 

“We are right glad to have you visit us, Bro. Mer¬ 
ton,” said Mr. Squareman; “we have been expecting you 
for some time, but until now expecting in vain. But I 
suppose it has been with you as with other preachers,— 
slanderous tongues have kept you away.” 

“Mr. Squareman,” said Merton, “your supposition, 
I assure you, has no foundation whatever. Besides, 
nothing but direct refusal to see me ever prevents my 
calling on my people. They are all alike dear to me,— 
all the objects of my solicitude. When they rejoice, I 
rejoice; when they weep, I weep. I have no favorites.” 

“Yes, Bro. Merton, that’s very good, very beautiful,” 
replied Mr. Squareman; “but you don’t know our neigh¬ 
bors. Where we came from, people felt kindly towards 
one another; but here all are one’s enemies. The chief 
officers of the church in Mazar delight in slander¬ 
ing and lying. Positively, of all things on earth, of all 

126 



brotherry rove. 


127 


the sins a man can be guilty of, I do think slandering is the 
worst. It is something you will never hear in this house ; 
we shut our doors against it. Of course, we sometimes 
speak the truth about matters ; but slander is something 
that both my wife and I consider beneath a square man. If 
ever we speak about our neighbors, we do so with righteous 
judgment, knowing that as we judge, so shall we be judged. 
When we are offended, we sometimes let the world know it ; 
and no man that ever lived, can Btand what the officers of 
the church in this place do, without being offended and 
showing it. We say, it would be a sin for a man not to be 
offended, when truth is trodden under foot, and sin walks in 
high places. * Look at that Meekface, for instance. What 
a man to be a steward in a church ! He has done all he could 
against me in a law-suit, and has been the means of my 
losing hundreds of dollars. From the very beginning, he 
has been an enemy to me, although a brother-member. To 
tell the truth, Bro. Merton, that man can’t possibly repeat 
what he hears, without changing it so that no man would 
know it. His whole family are natural liars. It’s a disease 
that’s hereditary in the whole Meekface family. What I’m 
saying is no news to you ; it’s impossible that it should be. 
No man could live around here two months, without know¬ 
ing the reputation of that family.” 

“ My dear Mr. Squareman ! excuse me, I beg you,but 
what you say, is certainly news to me ; and since I hate to 
be made the keeper of secrets, let me beg of you to say no 
more about the Meekface family. Let us talk about each 
other. We know ourselves so much better than we know 
Mr. Meekface. ” 

“ That’s all right, Merton, and, so far as that goes, very 
well said ; but as I was saying, I wouldn’t trust that fellow 
the length of my nose. Indeed, I have a dog here that’s 
better at heart than he is. If things arn’t altered here 


128 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


pretty soon, the church will go to the ground. We’ve had 
preachers here that wouldn’t even call upon us, because of 
the lies of that man and some of his imps. Such preachers 
I consider unworthy of notice. You’re welcome, sir, wel¬ 
come, and I hope at all times that you’ll find me a square 
man. 

“ The last minister here wasn’t as good a man as his wife, 
by a long shot. The fellow here before him,—well, he was 
a fool born and bred. You could see it in his face, and 
know it by his speech. But that isn’t the worst of it—Just 
think of a minister living with another man’s wife, as he did. 
Why I’ve heard his own children swear that he wasn’t their 
father. What an example for a community ! And, then, of 
all liars, he’d beat all ; why! he was worse than Tom Pep¬ 
per ; and you know what the folks say of him. After he’d 
been going around here for a long time lying about me, I 
met him one day, coming up the hill here by the house. I 
stopped him as a square man would ; indeed ! I stopped him 
as I’d stop my dog, and gave him a piece of my mind. 
You ought to have seen him. Why ! he was ashamed to be 
seen ; he couldn’t look me in the face for a moment, but 
stammered and stuttered, and hung down his head like a 
whipped cur. I don’t care who the man is, Bro. Merton; 
but I speak my mind, and that’s the way some say that I’m 
peculiar, that I’m not converted, that I haven’t the power. 
I’ll tell you, I don’t want conversion, if such hypocrites as 
we have around here, are converted. Thank God ! I was 
converted many years ago ; but I don’t want the prayers of 
those who are almost past repentance, and who are hardly 
fit to pray for themselves. ‘ Physician, heal thyself, ’ is what 
I say to such. No kiss of a Judas for me! Squareman 
akes no part in such mean, dirty business. I tell you what 
it is : If I could sell my farm, I’d soon make short work of 
it,—I’d soon pull up my stakes, and quit this country. 


BROTHERLY LOVE. 


I2Q 


’Tisn’t fit for a decent man to live in. The very face of 
that Meekface condemns him. I tell.you, Bro. Merton, 
I speak the truth when I say I wouldn’t believe him on 
his oath. I don’t believe he knows how to tell the truth. 

“Another of your principal men is Bro. Fraudulent. 
Not long ago I needed a hundred dollars for a year. When 
I asked him for the loan, he told me money was scarce, and 
'wanted twelve per cent and good security. I said to him: 
‘Look here, Bro." Fraudulent, I’ll give you twelve per cent, 
and good security. That security is my word. If my 
promise, as a member of the same church, isn’t good enough, 
I won’t give you any better security.’ Well, I couldn’t get 
the money; but I afterwards went to a sinner, and got it on 
my own terms. At another time I asked him for a small 
loan. He said he had no money; at the same time I was 
certain that he had not less than two hundred dollars in 
the house. The whole community will join me in saying, 
there isn’t a bigger rascal outside the state’s prison.’’ 

“Mr. Squareman,” asked Merton, “how far does Mr. 
Headstrong live from here?” 

“Haven’t you been there yet, Bro. Merton?” 

“No, sir,” said Merton. 

“Well, Bro. Merton, you’ll be there soon enough. Don’t 
be in too much of a hurry. We know something of that 
man. When we first came here we stayed some time with 
him; but we paid full price for everything we received. 
What did that fellow do but blab all around that he had kept 
us there for nothing! I tell you, Bro. Merton, that fellow 
is not a square man. He has a fine farm and some money; 
how he got it, God knows. In the early days, he went 
to California. I expect it was there he fell accidentally 
upon his money; for it does not seem to me that he ever 
could have gotten it in a community where one has to 
work for what he gets. Bro. Headstrong is not a square 


13 ° 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


man, and he has no more sense than my old boot; nobody 
has any faith in his words. He has a boy that he thinks 
very smart; but I regard him as a soft-head. The boy has 
made some signs and scratches, and he and some other fel¬ 
low correspond with them on postal-cards. Because he does 
this, they think him very smart. I’d like to know how a boy 
could be considered smart for corresponding in a language 
that nobody knows anything about, except himself and some 
other fellow just as foolish. I am sure that the people 
around here will join me in saying that all the Headstrong 
family haven’t brains enough to last them over night. Of 
course, you couldn’t make him believe it; he thinks he is the 
greatest man around here. He tells everybody that with¬ 
out him the church in Mazar couldn’t possibly stand. On 
the contrary, nobody of common-sense believes it can stand 
with him. It beats all to see what church officers you have 
in Mazar. What a trio, Headstrong, Meekface, and Fraud¬ 
ulent! I tell you what it is, the church that stands on such 
a foundation, stands on the sand, and must fall, when the 
winds blow and the rains descend. And I say, let it fall. 

“ Brother Headstrong has a near neighbor who used to 
be in the church, and he’s one of the very best fellows in 
the whole community. In the church, he used to be quite 
active, doing whatever his hand found to do, working like a 
member of the Lord’s kingdom- should work. How did 
Headstrong treat him ? He had a favorite dog, a very rare 
kind, and one which a man would be proud to own any¬ 
where; and out of mere envy, the old Headstrong, because 
he didn’t possess such a one himself, shot him, pretend¬ 
ing he was worrying some of his sheep. In this way, by 
one act after another, Headstrong drove him out of the 
church; for how could any man remain in a church, where 
he received such treatment from the hands of the very pillar 
of it! From that time to this, he regards Headstrong as the 


BROTHERLY LOVE. 131 

very image of sin; which, I think, is a merciful judgment, 
for I sometimes imagine he is sin itself.” 

“ But, Mr. Squareman, would it not be best for you to 
go to these men of whom you are speaking, make your 
complaint known to them, and endeavor to come to an 
understanding ? ” 

“ I have tried that often enough, Bro. Merton. I 
wouldn’t say what I have, if I didn’t hope that you might 
be able to get them to see their wickedness, and get their 
heart changed.” 

“ Thank you, Mr. Squareman; I shall always do the little 
I can to bring about harmony among my people. But in 
speaking of others, I know of only one just rule: never speak 
evil of others, except before their face. There may be ex¬ 
ceptions to this rule, Mr. Squareman; but I am sure, if you 
and I should act according to it, it would be very much 
better. I have no doubt you have grievances against the 
men you speak of; but did you ever think that, in their 
heart, they believe they have equal grievances against you ? 
I visit their homes, and without a doubt they speak of your 
ill-treatment of them. In such case, what can I do ? I do 
believe that if you brethren were to meet one another in a 
conciliatory spirit, you would find most of your reasons for 
ill-feeling would disappear, as snow before the sun. If you 
yourself would only go half way, I think your apparent 
enemies would come to meet you.” 

“ Yes, Bro. Merton, that may be. But the truth is, I 
have all I can do to attend to my own affairs. I wouldn’t go 
the length of my nose to meet a man like Meekface, whom I 
consider as surly as my dog.” 

“ But, Mr. Squareman, I ask you not to do this for your 
own sake, but for the sake of Christ and his church. Surely, 
if we are not willing to forgive, we can not expect to be for¬ 
given. We pray to be forgiven, as we forgive others.” 


132 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUT. 


“Yes, Bro. Merton, but you don’t catch me kneeling to 
such men as those; nor have I any desire to open my mouth, 
simply to fill the mouths of others. Besides, you don’t 
know a half of it, and I haven’t time to tell you.’’ 

“No, Bro. Merton,” said Mrs. Squareman, “you don’t 
know a half of our trouble. Only a few days ago Mrs. 
Meekface said she would never forgive me for all the lies I 
had told about her. God knows I haven’t told any lies. For 
all the evil that woman has said of me, I am willing and do 
now freely forgive her. She can curse, but God will bless; 
she can pray for evil to overtake me, but it will only bring 
down fire upon her own head. God knows those that are 
his, and he knows me. I have given my case to Him.” 

“But, Mrs. Squareman,” said Sunshine, “is it not pos¬ 
sible that Mrs. Meekface feels just as you do about it? that 
she is the injured party, and you the transgressor? It may 
be that if you should go to Mrs. Meekface, and deny that 
you had ever intentionally injured her, she would say the 
same of herself in regard to you. Then each of you seeing 
that there was no real ground for offence, would forget the 
past, and be friendly with each other.” 

“It is possible, Sister Merton, but I couldn’t possibly 
believe it, after doing all I have done. I won’t give up 
trying though; I pray for her every day that God may 
give her a better heart, and open her eyes that she may 
see her evil ways. ’ * 

On leaving the residence of Mr. Squareman, Sunshine 
and Merton thought, that though they had lost hospitable 
hosts, they had found relief from spirits full of fault-finding 
and bitter complaint. They felt greatly discouraged; but 
they were not without that which Thales said was the 
greatest of all possessions—hope. 

A few days after their visit at the house of Mr. Square- 


BROTHERLY LOVE. 


33 


man, they called on the Meekface family. During their 
visit, Mr. Meekface said: 

“You have been lately calling on Bro. Squareman; so 
I heard one of the neighbors say.” 

“Yes, sir,” replied Merton, “we were there about a 
week ago.” 

“You must have found them delightful company,” 
continued Mr. Meekface. “We’re not able to live in such 
a fine house as they; I don’t know how it is, unless they 
are blessed for their liberality. ’ ’ 

“A fine house is nothing to me, Mr. Meekface. I would 
greatly prefer to have my soul well clothed than my body. 
Do not trouble yourself too much about the inferior char¬ 
acter of your house. Make the best of what you have. 
You know that the silver and the gold are the Lord’s.” 

“Yes, Bro. Merton; but if all were to sing that tune, 
the preacher wouldn’t get very fat. He would be one of 
the lean kind.” 

“If a minister labors faithfully, Mr. Meekface, I should 
say he was worthy of his hire. ’ ’ 

“Yes, Bro. Merton; but some men don’t see it in that 
light. Everybody uses his own eyes, and some folks 
around here, may be, are color-blind.” 

“Everybody,” Merton replied, “should make the best 
use of his own eyes; but if they be defective, he should be 
led by the eyes of others, or he will fall into the ditch.” 

“Then some folks, Bro. Merton, must soon be in the 
ditch. The truth is, it is next to impossible to get one cent 
out of the Squareman family for the support of the minis¬ 
ter. He owes five dollars now; but he’ll never pay it. He 
never has anything for church-work, but a plenty to fix his 
house up with. If he paid as we, he wouldn’t have a better 
house than other folks. I know it’s hard to speak evil of 
others; but I speak for his good. I do hope you’ll succeed 


134 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


in getting some spiritual life into that man ; but if you do, 
you’ll do something that nobody else has been able to do. 

“ No doubt you’ve heard many things about us, but he 
can’t say any evil ; and, besides, nobody has any faith in his 
word. If you could hear Mrs. Squareman pray, you would 
think she was a saint ; but nothing but a miracle can ever 
save that woman. They have oily tongues, and keep them 
running all the day long ; and I guess they’ll never stop 
running, until they’re worn out. It’s a great pity they’re in 
the church. To have such people in the church, is like a 
drowning man having a lump of lead tied around his neck. 
Some folks think that Mrs. Squareman is out of her head, 
and I’m inclined to think that she is. A saint to-day, she 
has seven devils to-morrow. If you cast them out, you’ll 
do well. If the devil isn’t their governor, then I don’t know 
for the life of me, who can be. He brags all the time of be¬ 
ing a square man ; but a more one-sided genius never lived 
anywhere. I have been here a good many years, have 
labored in every way to build up our little church, have 
given money that should have been kept for my own family, 
have labored in the Sunday-school, and gone night after 
night to the protracted meetings, trying in every way to 
bring the folks into the church ; but as far as I can see, 
there’s no use in trying to do anything, where such folks are 
all the time hard at work pulling down.” 

“ Mr. Meektace, believe me, you have no need to sup¬ 
pose that my judgment is formed of one of my people, from 
what I hear another say of him. I assure you, my respect 
for you has not been lessened, by what I may have heard 
from the lips of others about you. I have found it is a very 
untrustworthy foundation to base a judgment upon. In 
reference to Mr. Squareman, it may be, he is a weak brother, 
and you a strong one. In such case, perhaps, you could 
help him by reaching out a kind hand to save. A kind 



BROTHKRLY 1,0 VK. 


135 


word, an affectionate greeting, a brotherly grasp of the 
hand,—these can restore, when nothing else can save. I 
so much wish you could help Mr. Squareman to a better 
view of things, and that you could work together. My 
own hands are weak, and my heart sometimes seems to 
fail within me. If only we could get rid of .some of our 
fault-finding spirit!” 

“I’m not fault-finding, Bro. Merton; but as far as 
Squareman goes, I’ve done my last for him.” 

Weary, wounded, and worn, they left the house, and 
sought the shelter of their humble little parsonage. Just 
before coming to the door, they were met by Mr. Pope- 
lover. Merton remained to talk with him, but Sunshine 
entered the house to prepare the tea. 

“How do you do, elder? I am very glad to see you. 
You’re come to a pretty tough place here. It doesn’t con¬ 
cern me, I’ll admit; but I can’t very well help sympathizing 
with a minister who comes here. Some years ago the people 
here had a very good kind of a man to preach to them; but 
they rewarded him by starving him out. He had to carry 
material to build his own stable. He had a young wife who 
was treated barbarously. The poor fellow appeared heart¬ 
broken. He stood it a short time, when, utterly disgusted 
with the whole business, he left the ministry, and went on 
a farm. I think he showed good sense v The last preacher 
they had here, appeared to me to be a woman; the one be¬ 
fore, I regarded as a very dishonest man. When I kqow a 
man to be dishonest, I know it. You have plenty of such 
characters in your church. I know some of them who go 
over yonder to pray, after they’ve turned their stock into 
my corn-field. I suppose the consciousness that their cattle 
are doing well, enables them to pray fervently. I haven’t 
much faith in such prayers. I met Bro. Fraudulent the- 
other day, and said: ‘Bro. Fraudulent, suppose a man 


136 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUT. 


should steal a span of my horses, can he get forgiveness 
without returning them?’ ‘Most certainly,’ he said. ‘A 
man is forgiven not for what he does, but because he be¬ 
lieves in Christ. We are saved by faith.’ I told him if 
that was Methodism, I wanted nothing to do with it; and 
that if it were Christianity, the sooner it were put' down 
the better. ” 

“Mr. Popelover, you are a Roman Catholic. You 
must know yourself the conditions of divine forgiveness. 
Either you misunderstood Mr. Fraudulent, or he has mis¬ 
informed you as to the doctrines of Methodism. If you 
will promise me to come to services next Sunday, I will 
undertake to tell you at that time what my own ideas on 
the subject are.’’ 

“With that understanding, elder, I will promise you 
to be at the church next Sunday. ’ ’ 

On the following Sunday, Mr. Popelover, true to his 
promise, was present at services, and proved a most at¬ 
tentive listener to the sermon, which was based on Matt, 
v. 23-24. In this sermon Merton spoke so plainly on the 
doctrine of divine forgiveness, that some of the members 
were not a little hurt, as afterwards became known. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

FALSE SPIRITS. 

Thou therefore which teachest another, teachest thou not thyself ? 

(Romans.) 

FTER preaching the sermon mentioned in our last 
chapter, Merton perceived that Mr. Headstrong, a 
very prominent and influential member of the congrega¬ 
tion, began to be less and less regular at services, and, 
finally, ceased coming altogether. When Merton discover¬ 
ed Mr. Headstrong’s protracted absence, he resolved to 
call on him, and find out the reason of his non-attendance. 
A little after entering his house, Merton said: 

“Mr. Headstrong, I have missed you for some time. 
What is the matter with you? I hope you have not been ill. ’ ’ 
“No, Brother Merton, not exactly; I have had the 
rheumatics. If you had them a little while, you would 
know all about my staying away from prayer-meetings. ’ ’ 
“I am truly sorry, Mr. Headstrong, to know that you 
are such a sufferer. I sincerely hope that in a few days 
you may be yourself again. I need your presence and 
help so much.” 

“I love the meetings, Brother Merton. There is not 
a man in this place, that’s worked for them as I have. 
I’ve often gone, and left my wife in floods of tears, and 
exposed to dangers also. But, then, a woman’s crying is 
nothing to me, when the meeting is concerned. Women 
are weak things, anyhow.’’ 

“I could hardly approve of such conduct, Mr. Head¬ 
strong,’’ replied Merton. “The first duty we have, is to 
take care of those who depend on us.’’ 

“Angels can keep us from dashing our feet against a 
137 


38 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


stone, Bro. Merton; God can protect his own. I don’t be¬ 
lieve in pleasing the whims of a woman, when the well¬ 
being of heaven calls me away. I believe in trusting Provi¬ 
dence; he who doesn’t, lacks true, saving faith. Such a 
one should get converted, before he goes out into God’s 
vineyard to convert others. We must first have the power 
ourselves.” 

“ But, Mr. Headstrong, would it not be as reasonable to 
say that he who trusts Providence to do for him what he 
might do for himself, lacks common-sense? And what is 
the use of faith without common-sense?” 

“ I’ve old notions, Bro. Merton, and they have come to 
me through experience; I got some of them out in -Califor¬ 
nia, after I had crossed the plains. I don’t want any of 
your untried opinions. Some young fellows think they are 
right smart; but men of experience don’t want no time to 
take the conceit out of them. In business matters I do as 
well as the best of them, and in speritual things I can beat 
them any time. There’s lots of book-larning in the world, 
but ’tisn’t worth nothing; such folks quarrel with Provi¬ 
dence every day. They are very smart in their way: they 
insure their lives and their houses. You don’t catch me in¬ 
suring my life. What is insurance, if it isn’t quarreling 
with God! No, indeed! Headstrong isn’t found wasting his 
money in insurance. God insures me and mine; that’s good 
enough for me. I don’t believe that a man who insures his 
life, has the sperit of God in him. How can we expect to 
enter the kingdom, if we fight like that against the ways of 
Providence ! Again, some folks keep organs and dolls for 
their cheldern. This is the sin of Israel, worshipping idols. 
No organ in Headstrong’s house; no dolls for my cheldern. 
Them’s my opinions all the time, and they’re come to me 
through hard experience. I’ve been a class-leader for many 
years, and have come to this knowledge through powerful, 


FALSE SPIRITS. 


139 


internal reasoning. The devil and all his sooty hosts 
couldn’t never change me a particle. When I say a thing, I 
say it; when I know a thing, I know it; and Headstrong 
knows two or three things. Tell you what, Bro. Merton; 
you might get Bro. Squareman, or somebody of his kind, 
to accept your doctrine; but nobody with the Sperit won’t. 
A man strong in speritual things, strong in the faith, and 
led by the Sperit, isn’t going to be moved an inch by your 
views. I wish you hadn’t preached that sermon on the 
‘Conditions of Divine Forgiveness.’ You greatly offended 
some who are led by the Sperit. Bro. Fraudulent was 
mighty displeased. You stepped on many a toe by say¬ 
ing what you said. But the one most offended is Bro. 
Fraudulent; for everybody knows you meant him.” 

‘‘Mr. Headstrong, you are making serious charges 
against Mr. Fraudulent. What right have you, or any¬ 
body else, to say that I referred to him in my sermon ?” 

“Because everybody knows right well that Bro. Fraud¬ 
ulent done to Mr. Popelover, just what you said; and 
that’s the way that Fraudulent was so angry.” 

“Mr. Headstrong, simply because I happened to .speak 
of a sin which you say Mr. Fraudulent had been guilty of, 
no one could therefore rightly infer that I alluded to him. 
Such a conclusion would be very unjust, whether made 
by you or any other. But suppose I did know it. Should 
I because of that knowledge, cease to rebuke such sins ? 
If so, it would follow that I should cease to speak of any 
sin whatever, since it is quite possible there is no sin that 
has not been committed by somebody.” 

“Bro. Fraudulent don’t believe in preachers meddling 
with the business of the members. And I might as well 
tell you, Bro. Merton, that Bro. Meekface supports him in 
his views. They both say that the preacher is a thing that 
is here to-day and gone to-morrow, but that the members 


140 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUT. 


are fixed. They say they have never heered your equal 
as a preacher, when you stick to the Gospel, and tell those 
sinners, those folks outside the church, the great danger 
they’re in; but that you know nothing about trading in 
horses,nor selling corn and wheat. Fraudulent is ashamed 
to go around, since you preached that sermon. As things 
are,I can’t never hope for a glorious revival.” 

“Mr. Headstrong, when the hub is rotten, the wheel 
carries but little; he who has a beam in his own eye,should 
not counsel others to take a mote out of theirs; a man with 
a legion of devils, should not seek to exorcise him possessed 
only of one. The first duty is for the chief members of the 
church to get within themseles a revival of honesty and 
truth; then we should have reason to expect others would 
begin.” 

“I find you are fixed in the error of your ways, Brother 
Merton. I prophesy, though, that you would do better in 
this circuit, if you had a leetle more of the Sperit in the 
inner man; and a leetle less of book-larning in the outer. 
I can’t come to church, where I hear the cheldern of Zion 
held up for the cheldern of this wicked world to laugh at. 
I like the preacher to tell sinners what they must do to be 
saved. This makes the old warrior’s heart rejoice; but I 
can’t stand it, to see the cheldern of Zion hang down their 
heads. Tell me, Brother Merton, were you ever converted?’ ’ 

“I certainly supposed I was, Mr. Headstrong, when I 
was quite a boy; but I do not claim to be a child of God so 
much because of this belief, as from the fact that I have 
always tried to love and worship God my Father,and to be 
kind and forbearing in all my dealings with my fellow-men. 
In other words,as I have never,to my knowledge,been far 
away from my Father’s house, I firmly believe that I am 
now at home, living in his presence. I trustingly place my 
hand in his,believing that though the way may be dark, I 


FALrSK SPIRITS. 


I 4 I 


shall in good time be brought into the light.” 

That’s very good,Brother Merton; but that’sjust where 
your weakness is. You, my dear brother, have never ex¬ 
perienced the blessed power. It is not your fault altogether. 
It is more the sin of theological schools, and so-called lam¬ 
ed professors. I tell you,one poor,ignorant man led by the 
Sperit,knows more of divine things than all the schools put 
together. It is the Sperit that teaches us, not book-larning. ’ ’ 

“I thank you for your advice,Mr. Headstrong,but would 
it not be well for you who are so full of the Spirit, to learn 
to judge less harshly,to seek more of the spirit of forgive¬ 
ness, and to show by your works that you have learned those 
divine things which,you say,you are so competent to teach. 
I cannot but believe, Mr. Headstrong,that the only sufficient 
evidence we have,or should seek,of a genuine conversion, 
is that the convert live an honest, upright, and consistent 
life. I want no faith which is not followed by right works. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘Such language,Brother Merton,shows that you are yet 
in the gall of bitterness,dead in trespasses and sin. Woe be 
to the man who seeks to draw others into the light, when he 
is in gross darkness himself. Not by works,Brother Merton, 
not by works, which are as filthy rags, but by the blood of 
Jesus. According to thy faith so shall it be. I do not know 
what will become of the church. It seems to me that unless 
God awakes, and puts on his glorious strength, that Zion 
must soon totter and fall; and great will be the fall thereof. 
Good day, Brother Merton; think prayerfully of what I said. 
It may be the Sperit will find you out.” 

As Merton left this m&n,he could but feel contempt as 
well as pity for him. While boasting of dwelling in the 
fullness of light, he was shockingly irreverent with God, 
and most abusive to others, if they dared to differ 
with him. Nor could Merton fail to recall the lines: 


I 4 2 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


“To make the lips # 

Of truth speak falsehood; to their own liking 
Turn the meaning of the text, 

And prove their reasoning best, 

Though propped on fancies wild as madmen’s dreams.” 

As he walked along pondering on the ignorance and 
superstition of the people he ministered to, he was met by 
Mr. Truthseeker: 

“How do you do, elder. Your sermon has created quite 
a sensation in Mazar. Everybody has something to say 
about it. It was enough to make any man think, and I 
for one didn’t escape. Two or three of your members, how¬ 
ever, are greatly offended. They have their old notions,and 
would as soon part with their lives, as part with them. I 
have heard some men say that they would give their last 
dollar rather than see you leave Mazar. So I guess you 
have no need to feel discouraged. Those who are offended, 
are of very little account here, even though they are the 
centre of your praying-band. If you could only succeed in 
getting them converted, there would be some hopes for 
Methodism in this place; as it is, it is a laughing-stock. 
Since you have been here, there’s a class of men coming to 
church, that never came before. It is something novel, 
you know, to hear it taught that it is the character, the 
moral uprightness of the man, which determines his accept¬ 
ability with God. I am not a member of any church, and 
never shall be, until it assents to doctrine like I hear you 
preach. You may take my word for it,—the community 
here approves your course. Here conies a man unlike 
myself. He is a member of the Baptist Church. Let us 
hear what he has to say about it. He heard your sermon 
last Sunday; and as he is a good judge, I would like to 
know what he thinks about it.” 


FALSE SPIRITS. 


H3 


“Good morning, elder,” said Mr. Workandpray. “That 
was a powerful discourse you gave us on the ‘ Conditions of 
Divine Forgiveness.’ It went to the point. Whether or not 
it may be considered as exactly like what is generally 
preached, I declare it seems to me the only sensible sermon 
on the subject I ever heard. But I tell you, elder, it made 
some fellows kick mighty hard. Speaking of your principal 
members, elder, makes me think of the time I first came 
here. Having attended the services one evening, I happened 
to hear Mrs. Squareman pray, who was then a stranger to 
me. I was mighty struck with her prayer, and on going 
home with Mr. Meekface, asked him who was that woman 
that made that fine prayer. ‘ She must be a fine character ’ 
I said.” 

“ ‘ I thought so myself once,’ he said ; ‘ but as you are a 
stranger here, my advice to you is, have nothing to do with 
that woman. She’s a whited sepulchre.’ 

4 Not long after this, elder, Mr. Outspoken went to the 
residence of Mr. and Mrs. Squareman to board, until he 
could get his own place a little fixed up. Well, he said 
that back-biting commenced at supper-table, and continued 
till bed-time, when they would take down the big Bible and 
have evening prayers. Mr. Outspoken protested against 
this. He said he didn’t see no use in back-biting one moment, 
and going to prayers the next. He thought the two didn’t 
work well together. But what he said, had but little effect 
on their tongues. They told him that they held up the 
people whom they were speaking about, as a warning to 
others. 

“ I tell you, elder, you must not care what such charac¬ 
ters say or do. They are well known here; and they are 
regarded as spotted sheep. The worst they can do to you, 
is to refuse to pay their subscriptions. If you offend them, 
they will likely do this ; but something should be done to 


i 4 4 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUR. 


stir them up. You have a good and honest name now. 
Don’t lose it for fear of them. If you lose their support, 
you gain that of other men, men like Toveright and God- 
saveall; and they are better able to support you than any 
of your members. ’ ’ 

As Merton passed into the little parsonage, Sunshine 
met him at the door, and said: 

“Harry, Mrs. Fencestridler has been visiting me. She 
made many apologies for not calling before, and left all 
these things you see here, to fill up our cupboard with. She 
said it was a treat to hear you preach; and that the people 
out at Woodland, were longing for you to come out there. 
I do think, Harry, that a good many people here are so 
kind, especially those outside the church. I do believe 
that such people are kinder to you and me than those who 
call themselves members of God’s kingdom.” 

“Such is not strange, my darling. It was in a measure 
true with Christ. He came to his own, and they received 
him not. I certainly could not stand the actions I have 
seen in many of the people of my charge, were it not for 
your presence. I sometimes feel almost in despair; but as 
soon as I come under your beams, I feel hopeful. The life 
I receive from you, gives me energy to battle under diffi¬ 
culties, however great, for the sake of the beautiful being 
called by my name. When I want to feast on you, I stand 
and gaze,lost in wonder at the beauty and loveliness of your 
form, and unable to express my thoughts in words. My 
love for you is too deep, my admiration for you too high, 
to express in any language. I seem to have a richer feast 
by silently watching you; and I feel, as it were, afraid to 
let my thoughts loose, lest the air carry them to others, and 
they share with me the feast I enjoy. I suppose it is selfish 
with me. But I am not sorry that I find my heaven in your 
presence; nor are you, I hope, that I want you all to myself: 


FALSE SPIRITS 


H5 


“O, Maedchen, Maedchen, 
Wie lieb’ ich dich. 

Wie blickt dein Auge. 
Wie liebst du mich. 

So liebt die Lerche, 
Gesang und Luft, 

Und Morgenblumen 
Den Himmelsduft. 

Wie ich d : ch liebe 
Mit warmem Blut, 

Die du mil* Jugend 
Und Freud’ und Muth 

In neuern Liedern 
Und Taenzen gibst. 

Sei ewig gluecklich, 

Wie du mich liebst.” 

( Goethe .) 


CHAPTER XIV. 
debasement of reeigion. 

What meaneth the noise of this tumult? 

(/ Samuel .) 

HE disaffection among the stewards of the church, re- 



A suiting from the preaching of the sermon on “Divine 
Forgiveness, ’ ’ caused them to seek every means of impeding 
Merton in his work, and embittering his life. They finally 
contrived a plot whereby he would be unable to have the 
further use of the church building. The building was the 
property of another people; and they, having no minis¬ 
ter that year, had permitted Merton’s people to have the 
use of it. Although the one denomination hated the doc¬ 
trines of the other, in order to have their revenge, the 
stewards of Merton’s church persuaded the rival church 
people to initiate revival services, that by so doing there 
might be an apparent reason for denying Merton the use 
of the church pulpit. The rival people readily consented, 
being already very jealous of the large congregations at¬ 
tending Merton’s services. 

It was Sunday morning. Merton had finished his dis¬ 
course, and had just announced his services for the follow¬ 
ing Sunday, whe’n Mr. Worthington, a leading member of 
the rival church, rose in his seat, and said: 

“I beg to announce that in the future, or at least for 
the next two or three months, we shall want the exclusive 
use of this house. We are going to hold revival services.” 

At this Mr. Remington arose, and replied: 

“Mr. Worthington, did you not promise me that Mr. 
Merton should have the use of this pulpit for next Sunday?’ ’ 

“No, sir, I promised no such thing,” answered Mr. 
Worthington; “and it’s a falsehood to say that I did.” 


DEBASEMENT OF RELIGION. 


147 


“lam surprised at you,” said Mr. Remington; “and I 
want nothing more to do with you, or any one else who 
would use such words, after having promised me faithfully, 
as you certainly did, that Mr. Merton should have the use 
of this house next Sunday.” * 

“Never mind, gentlemen,” said Merton; “it is not 
worth quarreling about. It may be we can hold services 
elsewhere. In the meantime, we will hold services next 
Sunday at the parsonage.” 

On his way to the parsonage, Merton was accompanied 
by Mr. Eoveright, who said: “Don’t you mind them, Mr: 
Merton. I heard even one of their own members say, a day 
or two ago, that if they closed the door against you, he 
would break it in. Those revival services are a disgrace to 
any community. I remember one that was held where I 
lived, some years ago. The services were a grand success, 
many people having been converted; for the leaders were 
said to speak with great unction. Everything went on most 
promisingly. One night the leaders failed to put in their 
appearance. People wondered what had become of the 
mighty workers who had wrought such wonders among the 
people of the church. The next morning, however, their 
wondering ceased; for a great many went to the stables to 
find their best horses missing. The leaders of the revivalists 
were nothing but a band of horse-thieves. I and my wife 
knew a very successful revivalist who generally ended his 
work by seducing one or two young girls. I often wonder 
why people can put confidence in such men. Who knows 
them? Nobody. They pass through the country like met¬ 
eors, and disappear the same way. A minister living among 
us, is a person we know. We can hold him accountable for 
his actions; but with revivalists, unless in special cases, we 
can absolutely do nothing. How can we tell the character 
of a man who comes from a distance, and known by nobody 


148 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUT. 


in the community? I have learned that a man can weep, 
and pray, and shout, and still be a devil. I am one ol 
those who have no faith whatever in revivalists, and I 
hope you will have nothing to do with revivals. ’’ 

“I hardly know what to do, Mr. koveright. I shall 
calmly think the matter over, and what I think is best, that 
will I- do, cost what it may. ’ ’ 

“I tell you, elder, a revival meeting would never have 
been thought of in this place, this winter, were it not for 
Mr. Headstrong. He is very angry with you, because you 
have not permitted him to blow his horn, as much as he 
wished to. Although a very ignorant man, he is a mischiev¬ 
ous one, and delights in doing all he can to injure those who 
cross him in the least. One year, he is a Methodist; next 
he’s a Baptist; God knows what he’ll be in the end.” 

It being fully known that Merton had refused to take 
any part in revival services,the disaffected members worked 
for a short time in union with the rival people, having in¬ 
vited Mr. Wheat, a preacher stationed at Stanton, to come 
and work for them in union with the evangelist. He came, 
and for a few days the two denominations appeared to labor 
in harmony. Soon, however, they began to quarrel over 
the division of the spoils. It was then that Mr. Wheat, 
becoming disgusted, ceased all further efforts. Before 
leaving the village, he called at the parsonage. On enter¬ 
ing the house, he said: “I am sorry, Brother Merton, that I 
was ever fooled into coming here, especially without your 
invitation. I see I have done wrong. I ought to have 
known that they were a nest of hornets. I hope you will 
forgive me; I will do no more of it.” 

‘ ‘My dear sir, ’ ’ replied Merton, “I certainly shall forgive 
you; but I can not understand why so-called ministers of the 
Gospel can be guilty of doing what you have done, unless 
the power which calls them to preach, is the pocket-book 


DEBASEMENT OF REUGION. 


149 


rather than the Holy Ghost. In my simplicity I refused a 
lucrative position for the sake of preaching; but what do I 
see among my so-called brethren, but a race after a few 
dollars. ’ ’ 

“I don’t know,Brother Merton, ’’replied Mr. Wheat, 
“how you feel about it; but if I could get more money in any 
other honest calling than by preaching, I certainly should 
feel it my duty to get it. The preacher of the Gospel must 
first of all look out for the wants of his family; and those 
things are best supplied, when we get most money. 

This saying surprised Mr. and Mrs. Merton, the latter 
having heard Mr.Wheat say,only the night before,that the 
Holy Ghost had called him to preach the Gospel to all 
mankind. She had as yet scarcely learned that the holy 
ghost of many ministers is the pocket-book and nothing 
else; but it was not very long before she became,as all others 
who fully study the question, completely convinced that, if 
ministers were to get less money, and acquire less promin¬ 
ence than men in other callings, the churches would nearly 
all be closed, and Christianity, as it is preached to-day, be a 
thing of the past in less than twenty years. 

One evening, about half-past eight, Merton visited the 
revival meeting. The house was like a pandemonium: it was 
full of giggling and groaning; and over all the maddening 
scene were cast the eyes of the lustful evangelist raving 
with the insanity of religious excitement. 

Approaching Mr. Truthseeker, the evangelist said: 

“Young man, do you love God?’’ 

“I do,” was the reply; “do you?” 

“Do I!’ ’said the evangelist; “I am perfect in love. I love 
God with all my soul, with all my strength, with all my 
mind,and with all my heart,and my neighbor as myself. 
I fear, young man,you are in the enemy’s territory. Come 
and learn of me, and I will show you wondrous things.” 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUT. 


150 

“ I am not certain,” replied Mr. Truthseeker, “ how much 
you know about holy things, if you mean shotes and horses; 
but I am certain you have never learned good manner* nor 
how to behave as a gentleman. If you had, you would 
never have filled the pulpit, at a time when it was promised 
another.” 

“ I am an evangelist, young man, and never allow my 
pulpit to be filled by another who might interfere with my 
methods, and deny my doctrines.” 

“You may be sure he would,” was the reply, “for no 
man, professing to be a gentleman, could see your methods, 
and hear your insane utterances, without branding you what 
you are,—an ignorant scoundrel.” 

“I reckon, young man, you’re a leetle off ; I will call on 
you again, when your right reason returns, if the day of 
grace isn’t passed.” 

“ I am open to an interview.” retorted Mr. Truthseeker, 
“ if you come looking like a decent man ; but with your 
present appearance, I can’t promise you one.” 

Leaving Mr. Truthseeker, the evangelist approached the 
young Mr. Loveright : 

“ Young man,” he said, “ I’ve saw you here a right good 
number of evenings. Are you seeking ? can’t I persuade 
you to come forward.” 

“ Don’t bring your mouth so near mine,” replied Mr. 
Loveright; “you smell too much of the weed.” 

“ Young man! don’t you think that you’re a leetle 
saucy ? ” 

“ Not so much as you are impertinent,” answered the 
young man. “ I profess to be a temperate man, and don’t 
wish to be intoxicated by your drunken spirit and tobacco- 
soaked soul. The room is big enough for both ; keep your 
distance.” 


debasement oe reeigion. 151 

At another time the evangelist approached Mr. Freund, 
and said : 

“Say, young man, I want to see you become converted, 
and happy like me.” 

“That’s all good enough,” said Mr. Freund, “but I 
really consider myself so much better than you, that I 
should deem it an unpardonable sin in me, to become as you 
are.” 

The evangelist then took the platform, and made an 
address in which he sec forth all the imaginary terrors of 
the dying-bed, the woes of the damned, and the wrath of 
God against the unrepentent. Of these he painted such an 
awful picture that none could look on it, without feeling a 
thrill of horror pass through himself. 

During the evening Miss Meekface approached Miss 
Godsaveall, and was persuading her to go forward, when, 
it being seen by Mr. Godsaveall, he said : 

“ Miss Meekface ! you dare approach my daughter again 
with any more of your lying inventions, and corruptions of 
the truth, and I will teach you a lesson, you will not be apt 
to forget. How dare you make such a farce of religion ! We 
are not come here to receive help from you or your kind, 
but to witness to what depths of ignorance and superstition 
such as you may be reduced.” 

Mr. Godsaveall spoke so loudly that he attracted the at¬ 
tention of the house, at which the evangelist arose and said : 
“ Brethren, to your knees ! The devil is in the house; he is 
hardening the hearts of the wicked ; he is hindering the 
work of the Holy Ghost ; he must be cast out by the way he 
came in.” 

Mr. Godsaveall was a conspicuous man in Mazar, noted 
for his integrity and gentlemanly conduct. That such a 
man should be classed with devils, was more than the people 
could stand. Quite a tumult arose ; and such a feeling of 


152 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUT. 


discord was engendered in the hearts of the praying band, 
that any future success was made impossible. 

The result of these revival-meetings was what had been 
prophesied: jealousy, ill-feeling, and bitterness received a 
new lease of life; and even those who had been the most 
friendly with the evangelist, could now be heard saying, 
he was a ‘ ‘ fool, ” a “ horse-trader, ’ ’ and a ‘ ‘ liar. ’ ’ 

Merton’s services were never better attended than dur¬ 
ing the Baptist revival-meeting: it had no power to draw 
away the better class of people. 

During those days it was gratifying to Merton to receive 
constant proofs of the people’s good-will in the form of 
gifts of wood, coal, flour, etc. We give an example of the 
manner in which these presents were brought: 

“Harry,” said Sunshine, “there is some one at the 
door. ’ ’ On opening the door, Merton saw the hired man of 
Mr. Godspeed, who said: “Elder, excuse me; but Mr. God¬ 
speed has sent me up with this bag of flour, and this five- 
dollar bill, as part payment for the sermon you gave last 
night, the best, he says, he ever heard in his life. He also 
wishes me to say that there’s more where this comes from. ’ ’ 
Shortly afterwards another knock was heard. This 
time it was Mr. Loveright, who had come to see them: 

‘ ‘Well,elder, ’ ’ he began, “I thought I would come down 
to inquire if you wanted anything like coal or wood, or any¬ 
thing I might be able to get for you. I have never, in all 
my life, taken such interest in religious matters; and the 
reason is, because of the wholesome sense you give us in 
your sermons. I can accept your doctrine, and so can any 
man of common-sense. What have you lost, elder, by 
doing as you have dome? You have lost three howling, 
ignorant hypocrites, while you have gained almost every 
thinking man in Mazar, and you have received two dollars 
for every one you would have received, had you done other- 


DEBASEMENT OP RELIGION. 


153 


wise. The leading men in this church, elder, are certainly 
unworthy of conspicuous places, except in gangs of notor¬ 
ious characters. Have you ever heard that Mr. Smalleyes is 
believed to be guilty of murder ? ” 

“ Yes, sir, I heard it a little after coming here ; but I 
know nothing of the truth of such report. It is a very 
serious charge to make.” 

“ There are a great many here who believe the charge is 
true, elder. Mr. Allimmersion and Hardtocrack who were 
among the very earliest settlers here, affirm the truth of the 
report. They say he has put two men out of the way, one 
being a laborer to whom he was in debt more than a hun¬ 
dred dollars, the other, a cattle-dealer.” 

“It is a terrible accusation,’’said Merton.“ One of our 
members wished to have the charges investigated ; but I 
know of no sufficient grounds for bringing charges against 
Mr. Smalleyes.” 

“ One thing is sure, elder : you have a class of men for 
church-officers, whom nobody will trust, and who will not 
trust one another ; a class of men known to be among the 
most dishonest in the whole community. Ever since I’ve 
been here, I’ve seen nothing but dishonesty among the chief 
members; and the preachers whom they have sent here, 
have been but a little better. Only a few days ago, Mr. 
Godspeed sent out his man to purchase wheat. He bought 
a fine lot of Mr. Fraudulent, and paid the cash down. On 
delivery, the first load was found to be as purchased, the 
second load proved to be mixed. Hastening to the resi¬ 
dence of Mr. Fraudulent, the miller obtained conclusive 
proof that Fraudulent had brought a pile of poor wheat 
from an adjoining room, and mixed it with the good. The 
hired man was as angry as he could be, and wished Mr. 
Godspeed to go to law about the matter; ,but Godspeed 
said : ‘ No ; but as long as I live, I will never buy a grain 


54 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUT. 


of wheat from that wicked knaveagain; ’ and every one 
knows that Godspeed means what he says. Now, this is 
just done by one of your principal men. Why ! I’m sure, 
if such things were done among the Blackfeet Indians, he 
doing it would be hung, as they would hang a horse-thief. 

“ The other night there was a prayer-meeting held across 
the road from us. During the evening, Headstrong made a 
long and seemingly earnest prayer in behalf of Squareman 
who was present. The latter was boiling with rage, while 
on his knees, at the thought that such a man should pray 
for him. After the close of the meeting, Squareman said : 

‘ I took no part in the meeting, nor did I blab about my 
conversion ; but, if I thought I wasn’t a hundred times bet¬ 
ter man than you are, Headstrong, I wouldn’t only leave the 
church, but I’d leave the world. You are, what you’ve 
always been—a snake in the grass ; but your bite can’t 
harm me. ’ 

“ Nor do the chief members at Moth do any better. A 
few days ago Smalleyes accused Woundedheart of stealing 
his whipple-tree, who replied to the accusation: ‘You’re a 
liar; and if you don’t leave my premises, I’ll boot you. ’ 
‘You’ll be booted in a few days,’ replied Smalleyes ; ‘ for I 
am going to have you up again ; and if this time I don’t fix 
you, then my name isn’t Smalleyes. ’ 

“ ‘ Once more I tell you, get off my premises, ’ said 
Woundedheart, ‘or I’ll make mince-meat of you. ’ 

“ Smalleyes seemed disinclined to go, whereupon Wound¬ 
edheart struck him. They fought like tigers until Smalleyes 
was a sickening sight. After almost killing Smalleyes, 
Woundedheart went to the residence of Beereyed, the most 
familiar friend of Smalleyes. He found him and punished 
him most fearfully. Finally the youngest Beereyed attacked 
Woundedheart with an axe, and in this way rescued his 
father. This trouble will bring on more law-suits. My own 


DEBASEMENT OF RELIGION. 


155 


belief is that no church can hope to prosper, while it has 
such characters for its leaders,—characters who are a dis¬ 
grace to any community.” 

“Elder, you are going to have a quarterly meeting, in 
a few days. Where is it to be held? ’ ’ 

“It matters not to me, sir,” said Merton; “I have done 
with this people. I have not been pleased with my field of 
labor. Nevertheless, had I received anything like fair 
treatment, I would not have left them just yet; although I 
have for some time purposed in my heart to leave the church 
with which I am now connected. You know the people 
of this charge; and you know the treatment I have received 
from them. I regard the work of a man as much the fruit 
of his faith, as the fruit of the tree is the product of the soil. 
If the works are bad, the faith is bad, the heart is bad. I 
fear that my principles are not such as will receive a gen¬ 
eral and ready acceptation from the people of this church. 
I have determined to seek other affiliation. To this end I 
have prepared a written request, asking permission of the 
quarterly conference, to withdraw from all connection with 
this people. Inasmuch as I have never been ordained, and 
am only a preacher on trial, the quarterly conference has 
full power to grant my request. But wherever we may go, 
both Mrs. Merton and myself shall always remember the 
great kindness you have shown us. You have, indeed, 
been a true friend to us. ’ ’ 

“I have only done my duty, Mr. Merton. I have been 
more than repaid by your manly opposition to the abomin¬ 
able farce that we have had here, under the name of a 
revival.” 




CHAPTER XV. 

UNREASONABLE DOGMAS. 

Reason must be our last judge and guide in everything. 

{Locke.) 

jT must not be supposed that Merton’s decision to leave 
the denomination with which he had been connected, 
was reached without much thought and anxiety. He had 
spent many years with that body, had thoroughly 
studied the dogmas of that church, and sought in every 
way to find some reasonable defence for them; but he had 
sought in vain. So notwithstanding the great anxiety 
that must have filled his breast, while contemplating such 
a change, Merton resolved to yield to the demands of his 
heart and soul for a more liberal faith. This faith he 
hoped to find in the Episcopal Church. 

There were also other reasons that might have deterred 
Merton from executing his purpose: all his old acquaint¬ 
ances, the members of his own family, and his most inti¬ 
mate friends were in the church he was leaving. He 
knew well that parting from that body meant, to no small 
extent, leaving his friends. He should not again join 
them in social gatherings, nor unite with them in singing 
their songs of praise. No good blood ran in the veins of 
these he was forsaking for those he was seeking; for the min¬ 
isters of the latter body looked on those of the former as, 
at most, only laymen without any power to administer 
the sacraments, or perform any priestly function, in the 
church of God. Merton knew all this; but yet he could 
not bring his soul any longer to accept those narrow dog¬ 
mas whose bitter results he had seen so clearly manifested. 

It was hard to sever ministerial relations; but Merton 
was comforted at the thought that what had been done, 
had been so well done. 

156 


UNREASONABLE DOGMAS. 


*57 


Merton’s work in Methodism was now ended,and he felt 
glad at heart. Having had for some time many doubts con¬ 
cerning not a few of the fundamental doctrines of so-called 
evangelical theology, he felt great abhorrence toward the 
doctrine of salvation by faith, as generally taught and be¬ 
lieved by Methodists. In his opinion such a doctrine was 
no less morally dangerous than philosophically absurd: 
morally dangerous, because it confers on the unjust un¬ 
merited benefits, but fails to reward the really good and 
meritorious, therefore removing the only sufficient sanction 
for a virtuous life; and philosophically absurd, because it 
separates the shadow from the substance, and bases itself 
upon the magic of miracles. Says Aristotle: 

*‘M£a * a P ov iroiei , pLa ijptpa. ovtu 8 e ovoe 

paxapiov ical evda.Lp.ova pLa r)p£pa ovS ’ oXLyos XP ° V0S • Ei 5 X£yerai 
6 'ri £k tov Sinaia ir parreiv 6 SLnaios yiverai. Owe iirj d'dv oGSe 
Tiprjs &I;los cpaGXos uv, rtfs aperijs yap adXov ij Tipif/, Kal airov^peraL 

toTs dyadoh —One swallow does not make a spring, nor one 
day; nor does one day, nor a little time, make a man happy 
and blessed. It is well said that man becomes just from 
the practice of justice. Nor should a man who is base, be 
considered worthy of honor; for honor is the reward of vir¬ 
tue, and is assigned to the good.” (Nico. Eth. i. 7, 16; 11. 
4, 5; iv. 3, 15.) But, unlike this rational teaching of Aris¬ 
totle, the doctrine of salvation by faith, so prominent in 
Methodism, teaches that the dying thief or murderer may 
by one act of faith be as worthy of entering into the heaven 
of heavens, as the most virtuous soul who has labored all 
his days to do good, and refrain from evil. More than this: 
it says that such thief or murderer may, by trusting in an¬ 
other’s righteousness, receive the reward of eternal life; 
whereas the morally pure and noble-minded, by trusting in 
his own righteousness and not in another’s, will be adjudged 
worthy of eternal damnation. The murderer or the vicious- 


153 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUR. 


minded cries to God, as such naturally would, for forgive¬ 
ness; and looking to Christ’s merit, he no sooner cries than, 
washed in the blood of the Lamb, he is made as white as 
snow, and fit for his heavenly home. But the murdered, 
cut off without warning, falls into outer darkness, where 
there shall be weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth, to 
rise no more forever out of his deep, dark dungeon of pain 
and woe. Reason tells us that character should be the only 
test of moral worth, this doctrine denies it; reason tells us 
that purity of soul can only be attained to by long and per¬ 
sistent effort after the good; this doctrine holds it can be 
attained,without money and without price, in a moment, in 
the twinkling of an eye, even by one faithful look at the 
cross of Christ. Reason assures us that every man should 
be rewarded according to his own deeds; this doctrine 
teaches that man will receive the highest reward the Infinite 
One can bestow, not because of his own good deeds, but for 
the sake of those of another. Cicero teaches that eudaimo- 
nia or beata vita (true happiness) is the direct result of 
one’s own virtuous actions; but this doctrine teaches that 
the beata vita of Christ, which naturally resulted to him 
from his own beautiful and virtuous life, may be miracu¬ 
lously mine by imputation,no matter how degrading my life 
may have been; that is, it teaches that the shadow may exist 
apart from the substance. As well might we teach the ex¬ 
istence of a child without a parent, or of a product without 
its factors. Merton could not accept such a ruinous doc¬ 
trine. He believed, as he should, that no man can be saved 
in this world, and, therefore, in no other, by any righteous¬ 
ness excepting his own. This righteousness, Merton felt 
certain, is produced by doing well from noble motives. He 
could not help accepting the teachings of Aristotle, which 
is simply the teaching of common-sense; on the other 
hand, he could not believe in the doctrine of salvation by 


UNREASONABLE DOGMAS. 


159 


faith, being, as it is, contradictory to all our ideas of justice, 
and to natural law. He was glad, therefore, to have done 
with Methodism, a form of faith which makes this doctrine 
so prominent in its theology, whether considered in its the¬ 
oretical or practical sense. 

Again, Merton could not see any justice in the doctrine 
of a fixed state after death. Rather was he conscious that 
every inference he got from life in this world, went to dis¬ 
prove it. There are countless hosts of men who; though 
they put forth strenuous efforts to lift themselves above and 
out of their surroundings, yet die in despair, engulfed in 
the immoral filth in which they were born and raised; like¬ 
wise are there multitudes who, though they put forth 
scarcely any efforts of their own, yet because of their inher¬ 
ited tendencies, family relations,early associations, and ed¬ 
ucation, live fairly good, moral lives, and die what are called 
good church-members. According to the doctrine of a fixed 
state after death, the former are eternally damned, while the 
latter are eternally blest. Now, if any man can see a par¬ 
ticle of justice in such judgment, he must certainly look 
through other eyes than those of reason. Certainly there 
would be no justice in such decrees. If it were possible for 
the God of the universe thus to judge, it is certain that He, 
being of such character, must remain unknown to us. But 
such conclusion, if accepted, would make every priest in 
the world without means of support, and homeless. In 
the nature of the case, therefore, it is one which theolo¬ 
gians will not be likely to accept; although they could not 
reasonably do otherwise than accept it, if the dogma of a 
fixed state after death be true. Because reason assures 
us, that such a doctrine is most unjust; and, if reason in 
this consideration be self-deceived, then it certainly may be 
in any other consideration, and, therefore, in that of God’s 
will concerning us. 


l6o FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUT. 

I am descended from devotional parents. Being moral 
and law-abiding themselves, they naturally sought to have 
their descendants so. It is certain, therefore, that I inher¬ 
ited a moral and religious nature, or tendency. I have 
never found it necessary to make any special efforts in order 
to live, what is called, a moral, or even religious life ; rather 
have I found that my hereditary tendencies and early 
teachings and example, have made it hard for me to “ kick 
against the pricks, ” or not to worship the God of my 
fathers. I know others who, descending from notoriously 
immoral progenitors, and brought up in the surroundings of 
their birth, have lived and died, only to repeat the life and 
death of their progenitors. It is true, in many cases, they 
have longed for something better,—better food, better 
clothing, better associations, better thoughts ; but as the 
leopard can not change his spots, so they have failed to bet¬ 
ter very much their condition, and in their death have 
simply showed how their fore-fathers died. Now, I have no 
doubt whatever that many of those have made more exer¬ 
tion after a higher life, than some who have shone in church 
and society as suns ; yet, while the latter are eternally 
blessed for their little effort, the former are eternally damned 
for their strenuous but fruitless endeavor after a better life. 
In other words, while the one is blessed for doing what he 
never did; the other is damned for not doing what he could 
not possibly do. That the God whom I adore, could so 
judge, I can not, I will not, believe ; for thus believing, I 
should be guilty of blaspheming his most holy name. 

Again, it is certain that while some are born with highly 
developed devotional powers, others are born with scarcely 
any at all. In the former case, the child is almost sure to 
be religious; in the latter case, almost sure not to be so. As 
some are born with good eyes, and become sharp-shooters, 
so some are born with highly developed, spiritual sight, and 


UNREASONABLE DOGMAS. 


161 


become leaders in the moral and spiritual world. But is it 
possible that a just God can blame me, because I am not a 
sharp-shooter, when my eyes were such from my birth, as to 
make it impossible for me to see well ? In like manner, is it 
possible that a just God can damn me for not being relig¬ 
ious, when in my very nature I lack the devotional elements ? 
Let those who will, believe such calumny against the wise 
God and Father of all; I will not. Here will I stand, God 
helping me : though every created being in the universe be 
guilty of injustice, l will never believe that the Fountain of 
truth and life can be. Therefore I do not believe in the doc¬ 
trine of a fixed state after death, because of the injustice 
necessarily attending it. Nor could I believe in such doc¬ 
trine for the following reason : God is necessarily every¬ 
where present, pervading and upholding all things. He is 
therefore present in this world. But there are no evidences 
of a fixed state in this life ; on the contrary, all is constant 
change. Every sun-rise brings with it new opportunities, 
every sun-set carries with it lost ones. The possibilities of 
improvement remain throughout our life,—hope never dies. 
There being but one God, or one universal Mind ruling and 
pervading all things, it would seem most reasonable to be¬ 
lieve that as He governs here, so He governs elsewhere ; 
and that, therefore, since during our present life the possi¬ 
bilities of improvement remain with us, so throughout the 
life which is to come, such possibilities must continue. 

The Judgment-day is not a far off event, but is ever with 
us, and the character of that judgment, is well and certainly 
known. It is far better expressed in the Theosophic doc¬ 
trine of karma than in so-called Evangelical theology. The 
words of the Vedas are certainly true and just : “ According 
as a man act, and according as he believes, so will he be : 
a man of good acts will become good ; a man of bad acts, 
bad.” Inasmuch as Methodism is most uncompromising in 


162 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUT. 


asserting the fixed nature of the future state, Merton was 
glad for this reason also that he had left its fold. 

Having ceased to act in union with his old people, Mer¬ 
ton’s congregation invited him to preach to them independ¬ 
ently until he should be called away,or while his duties 
permitted. This he did,at the same time giving especial at¬ 
tention to the performance of such duties as might hasten his 
admission, as a minister, into the Protestant Episcopal 
Church. The several kindly written letters, received from 
the bishop of that church assured him of a most hearty wel¬ 
come; but he would have to receive the rites of confirmation, 
and ordination, before he could assume any ministerial 
work; for as yet he had never been ordained,not even by 
the church he had left; and even if he had been,such ordi¬ 
nation is not accepted as valid by Episcopalians. It was 
therefore to such preparation as was required for the recep¬ 
tion of these rites, that he gave his particular attention. It 
must not be supposed from what we have said, that there was 
any severe labor connected with Merton’s entering the Prot¬ 
estant Episcopal Church. As far as the rite of confirmation 
was concerned,there was nothing for him to do but merely 
to receive it; and the same might almost be said with regard 
to his ordination,the learning required for ordination to the 
priesthood being but little in amount, and common in 
quality. Even this little is frequently greatly lessened by 
the bishop, who has power by canon to dispense with the ex¬ 
aminations in Hebrew, Greek,and Eatin, the only parts of 
the examination that could be considered at all difficult. 
The examinations in the ancient languages mentioned, 
even when fully borne, may be passed by an applicant 
who has but little more than an elementary knowledge of 
them. 

Merton was not a little pained to leave some of the peo¬ 
ple of his charge; especially may this be said of the people 
at Budds,w r ho had always been most attentive to all his 


unreasonable dogmas. 


163 


wants, and faithful in their attendance on the services. Not 
one unpleasant thing ever occurred to mar his happiness; 
but their kindness seemed to increase the longer he 
preached to them. Such friends as these, it was painful to 
leave; but the pain was as that which precedes the joy that 
a child is born into the world. Although not yet fully born 
into the light,Merton’s soul was struggling to get entirely 
free; and the sense of comparative freedom, with the pros¬ 
pect of still wider liberty, made him pour forth his soul in 
thanksgiving to God. As angels rolled away the stone 
that stopped the upward flight of Jesus, so had God re¬ 
moved one at least that had kept the soul of Merton shut 
up in sepulchral gloom. It was indeed his first resurrection. 
THE SONG OF CREATION. 

BY HENRY TRURO BRAY. 

Shining seraphim who are watching by the tomb-imprisoned Lord, 
Waiting the prophetic moment, serving the Eternal Word; 
Decked with majesty and power from Jehovah’s awful throne,— 
Tell me, ye celestial legates, if ye’ve rolled away the stone. 

List the glad chorus which floats on the wave: 

Light is now streaming through the gloom of the grave. 

Hark! the peals of jubilant heaven fill the universal deep, 

Rising from th’ angelic choir, surging ’neath the Eternal’s feet; 
Breaking all the awful stillness which pervades the dark abyss, 
Filling every heart with rapture, deluging the world in bliss. 

List the glad chorus which floats on the wave: 

Death is made captive in his kingdom, the grave. 

Hark! the tremulous, resonant harmony pulsates through cre- 

[ation’s space, 

Vivifying nature’s being, quickening it with streams of grace. 
Rushing on,the seraph-chanters thrill the globes with cadent tread, 
And the sympathetic atoms vibrate deep among the dead. 

List the glad chorus which floats on the wave: 

Life is now throbbing in the death of the grave. 

See these flashes of lightning so vivid! How the deafening thun- 

[ders roar! 

Look! the hosts of heaven, prostrate, vail tneir faces, and adore! 
Nature’s soul is all attendant, conscious of these portents dread— 
From the throne the voice proceedeth: Christ is risen from the dead. 
Fly ye bright choristers dowp from on high; 

Jesus is risen, and man shall not die. 


\ 



CHAPTER XVI. 

I.OYAI.TY TO TRUTH. 

Die Unschuld hat tin Himmel einen Freund — 
Innocency has in Heaven a friend. 

{Schiller: Wilhelm Tell) 

I,ines on the birth of Merton’s first little daughter; 

Beautiful, beautiful sky, 

Decked with pearls so bright; 

Palace of angels on high, 

Flooded with roseate light! 

Thy worlds forever in harmony roll 
To the music of God who is harmony’s soul. 

Beautiful, beautiful earth, 

Beating with life-giving love, 

Bursting with laughter and mirth, 

Radiant with light from above! 

Thy lawms and thy bowers, entrancingly sweet, 

Are a temple of God where we kneel at His feet. 

Beautiful, beautiful child, 

Light that scatters our gloom; 

Cheerful and trustful and mild, 

Emblem of life from the tomb! 

May angels to thee as guardians be given, 

Directing and guiding thy footsteps to heaven. 

( H. T. B.) 

It was only five months after having left his old asso¬ 
ciations, when Merton was ordained to the ministry of the 
Protestant Episcopal Church. He loved the pulpit as the 
place where reason, as a flower, should scatter its perfume, 
and display its beauty. 

Merton was probably never entirely free from doubt. 
But fully believing that there is a substratum of truth in all 
religious teaching, and not as yet being* fully convinced as 

164 




royalty to truth. 


165 

to what that substratum is, or is not, and fearing lest by 
yielding to his doubts, he might lose the truth itself, 
Merton decided to keep on, ready and determined, at all 
times, to cast to the winds any belief that he held, as soon 
as he should become convinced of its falsity. While in 
doubt, he might hesitate to speak; but when convinced 
that something taught as a vital, religious principle, was 
only a base superstition, nothing could prevent him from 
asserting his convictions. 

Merton believed that man is first of all, and more than 
all, accountable to God for the privileges of life, and that 
the highest privilege of life is the enjoyment of reason. It 
is the reason that elevates man above the brute creation; 
and it is by the use of reason that man determines the ways 
of nature and of nature’s God. Through the reason, there¬ 
fore, does God reveal himself; and by the use of reason 
does man make himself most like God. The man, there¬ 
fore, who stifles his convictions, and silences the thoughts 
of his soul, interrupts the divine revelation, prevents the 
Divine Being from manifesting himself, and thus most 
clearly sins against God, the Holy Ghost. True it is that 
man, not being God, must frequently err in the use of 
his reason; but so is it equally true that man, being man, 
without the free and untramelled use of his reason, must 
fall to the position of a slave, lower himself to the \ lane 
of the brute, and make it impossible that he .should be the 
subject of a virtuous thought or act. 

Merton was always led by a love for the truth, conscious 
that by a knowledge of the truth alone could man hope to 
get salvation. L,oyal to Truth, he could not be forced to be¬ 
tray her, whether by threat of ecclesiastical censure, or by 
conscious fear of the loss of position. Should the reader have 
asked,what is the truth; Merton would have answered: It 
is the agreement of the idea with the facts and conditions of 


166 FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUT. 

the thing under cognition; blit that man can not be held 
accountable for not having, at all times, correct ideas about 
the objects of his cognition, but only for acting according to 
the truth, as far as he is able to determine it. The man 
who does wrong, while striving to do right, is moved by a 
noble motive, though accomplishing no virtuous act, and 
such a man can not reasonably be condemned of sin against 
God; but the man who happens to do right,without putting 
forth a conscious effort to accomplish it, can not be said to 
have performed a virtuous act, nor to have been the subject 
of a noble motive. Such an act is no more virtuous or noble 
than the act of a dog in following its master, or of the cow 
in coming to her milking-place. One may, therefore, do 
right, and yet be a great sinner; because he may not have 
used his reason to determine whether the act he was about 
to perform, should or should not be done. Thus he hid in 
a napkin the greatest gift of God to man. God as God is 
free to act; and his action, since He is infinite, must at all 
times be agreeable to the truth; but man as man, being the 
child of God, and therefore godlike, while he also may be 
at all times free to act, can not act at all times agreeably to 
the truth, but only to his convictions, or to the truth as far 
as he is able to determine it. The man who is loyal to his 
own convictions, while in his heart at all times on the side 
of truth, will sometimes be found supporting an error. 
This follows from the fact that he is not God; it does not 
show a lack of goodness or virtue. On the other hand, the 
man who is not loyal to his own convictions, can never be 
called a good or virtuous man; nor can he ever really know 
the truth: for in the heart thus false to God and itself, 
nothing truly good or beautiful can take up its abode, 
much less truth, the supreme good of all. Nothing could 
make Merton false to his own convictions. This was clear¬ 
ly shown at the time of his ordination. While passing his 






royalty to truth. 


167 


examination in Systematic Theology, he boldly said 
that he could not accept the examiner’s view of a question, 
and insisted on his own. The examiner thereupon appealed 
to the work of Pearson on the Creed. Merton replied that 
he was sorry for the church that Pearson had held such 
views, as it most clearly proved to his mind the author’s 
ignorance of almost the first principles of science; that how¬ 
ever high Pearson might stand in the estimation of church¬ 
men, he himself could not accept his conclusions on the 
subject in question. The examiner then replied that Mer¬ 
ton’s view was heretical. To this charge Merton answered, 
that if his views were heretical, so much the worse for the 
church; that if they ordained him, they would be obliged 
to ordain a heretic, since he would not change his view of the 
matter for Pearson or any number of Pearsons,unless they 
were able to prove,to his satisfaction,that he was in error. 

“Allow me to call the bishop, Mr. Merton, that we may 
have his opinion on the question,” said the examiner. 

The bishop having been asked the question, answered 
precisely as Merton had. 

“ But, bishop,” said the examiner, “you are certainly 
wrong; for Pearson holds that such a view is heretical.” 

“ What does Pearson say?” asked the bishop. 

The examiner then took Pearson, and slowly read his 
views, whereupon the bishop said: 

“All right; I stand corrected. I presume neither Mr. 
Merton nor myself wishes to be at war with good old 
Pearson, who has weathered so many storms. I take him to 
be a very good navigator in these perilous times. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘Well,bishop, ’’replied Merton, “I do hot know whether 
I am really right or not; but I do know that a man should 
think too much of his own opinion to change it, simply be¬ 
cause Pearson,who was but a man like other men, teaches 
the contrary. He gives me no sufficient reason,in what he 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUT. 


168 

says,for abjuring my view and adopting his. If I am heret¬ 
ical, it is better that it should be known, and that I should 
now know it,that I may stop before it is too late. I can not 
change my view of the question simply to conform to those 
of Pearson,nor for anything less than sufficient reasons; and 
these have not been adduced. ’ ’ 

“It is not a matter of such great importance,” said the 
bishop; “I presume differences do no harm in the long run. 
They only serve to stir us up a little. ’ ’ 

“I can’t think it right,bishop,’’said the examiner, “to 
give it up in this way. Mr. Merton should certainly know 
that Pearson is with us a standard work; and that men who 
come to us, are expected to conform to the standards in use 
among us. I myself feel like protesting against such 
freedom.” 

“ Tisn’t a very vital matter,” replied the bishop. “ It 
may be Mr. Merton will come over to Pearson’s side yet; 
I think he will at least.” 

“It may not be a very vital matter,” answered the ex¬ 
aminer; “and I presume it is not. Yet I insist that no one 
should be ordained in our church who cannot heartily as¬ 
sent to the teachings of such standard writers as Pearson. ’ ’ 

“Did you yourself never have a doubt in your heart 
about many matters that by some would be called essentials 
of the faith?’ ’ asked the bishop. “I do not know that I am 
called upon to answer such questions, ’ ’ replied the examiner. 
“One thing sure,if I have had such doubt,nobody has ever 
heard me express it; and what isn’t expressed, can’t do 
much mischief. There’s an old saying that a sin unrevealed 
is half forgiven; and there’s much of truth in this. A heresy 
unexpressed will not have the effect of drawing honest souls 
away from the truth. ” “I differ with you totally, sir, ’ ’ re¬ 
plied Merton. “If one thing be more detestable than 
another, that which is the most detestable of all, is a 



UOYAI/TY TO TRUTH. 169 

man who believes in his heart one thing, and teaches 
another. Nor is the man much better whose heart is 
eaten with doubt, when he declares that it is the tem¬ 
ple of certainty. If I had, as you say you have had, doubt 
about the truth of what I preached, I would either state 
that doubt, or I would refuse to preach on that subject. 
Not to do this, would be to deceive my hearers, and debase 
my own consciousness. Let me be ten-thousand heretics 
rather than one deceiver. But I fear the pulpits are full of 
men who do just as, we infer from what you say, you have 
done.” 

“I don’t think,” said the examiner, “that I have given 
you any right to make any inferences whatever. If you 
choose to make such inference, you have the liberty of 
doing so. ’ * 

‘ ‘ I must say, ’ ’ replied the bishop, ‘ ‘one would naturally 
make such inference from what you have said. But let us 
hear no more about this matter. If it were a vital question, 
I should hesitate to proceed any further, before getting Mr. 
Merton’s assent to it; but it is not. It is impossible to get 
all men to be of the same mind. If Mr. Merton determines 
to adhere to his opinion of the matter, I shall not make it 
a reason for refusing ordination. I do not think his view 
can justly be considered heretical.” 

“All right, bishop,” replied the examiner; “I am will¬ 
ing to be governed by you in the case; but it does appear 
to me that according to Pearson, it is an heretical view. ’ ’ 


CHAPTER XVII. 

THE-CAW, OF DUTY. 

This above all,—To thine own self be true; 

And it must follow, as the night the day, 

Thou canst not then be false to any man. 

( Shahspere .) 

Merton had now been settled for some time as the min¬ 
ister of a very nice congregation, in one of the southern 
states. The parish had been in a declining state for several 
years; and at the time of Merton’s.coming into it, it was 
thought to be almost beyond recovery. But Merton’s zeal 
became everywhere manifest, in the Sunday school, in the 
pulpit, and in his pastoral visits. 

In the pulpit he seemed on fire with the intense earnest¬ 
ness of his soul. No one could doubt his sincerity: he 
preached most to himself; and when thus preaching, he ap¬ 
peared to convince himself of the truth of the cause he was 
so earnestly pleading; and in convincing himself, he con¬ 
vinced his hearers. His congregation grew, his people 
loved, trusted, almost worshiped him. But as the “gods 
do not give man all things at once,” such peace and pros¬ 
perity were too much for one man to enjoy. The cup for 
man’s bliss, in this world, though shallow, is scarcely ever 
filled; but his cup for misery, though deep, is frequently 
running over. But Merton’s people were apparently trying 
to fill his cup with bliss. They were working in harmony; 
they attended faithfully on the services of the church; they 
rejoiced at his presence in the pulpit,and in their homes; and 
they ministered gladly to all his wants. While day by day 
they thus increased the contents of his cup of bliss, they 
added nothing to his cup of misery, but sought to take from 
it the little it contained. They were a generous, whole- 

170 




THE CAEE OF DUTY. 


171 

souled, noble people; and Merton loved them as if his own. 

It was a hot, sultry climate; the atmosphere acted on 
one like a steam-bath; and Merton hsd been accustomed to 
a northern temperature. The fact that he was not as yet 
fully acclimated, exposed him to various prevailing dis¬ 
eases; and his extraordinary labors weakened his system, 
making him still less capable of resisting disease. 

Finally all the premonitory symptoms of yellow fever 
came upon him; pains in the back and limbs, yellowness of 
the skin and eyes, and supraorbital headache; yet he would 
not desist from his labors until compelled for the lack of 
strength to stand. After a sickness of about ten days, he 
again was able to move around; but so great was his weak¬ 
ness that the people pressed him to take a. vacation, and 
go north for two months to recuperate. 

On the day of his leaving, it was everywhere known that 
yellow fever was in the city; and the physician who attend¬ 
ed Merton after coming north, insisted that he had had the 
disease; and of the truth of this physician ’ s diagnosis, neither 
Merton, nor those who saw him, had any doubt whatever. 

From a loving mother, faithful brother, and a most de¬ 
voted wife, Merton received every possible care; and he 
himself made use of every means calculated to aid in the res¬ 
toration of his health. But with all the care and attention 
he received, it was nevertheless at least two months before 
any degree of health and strength returned. Even then 
he was pale, weak and emaciated; but he felt more cheerful, 
a little stronger, and on a fair road to recovery. 

At this time he wrote to his vestry, telling them of his 
condition, and offering to return immediately, if they were 
in need of his presence. To this’ letter the wardens replied, 
begging him not to return. “It would be madness in you, ’ ’ 
they wrote, ‘ ‘to return to this place, at the present time. 
Your presence would only add fuel to the flame, as you 


172 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUT. 


have not yet been fully acclimated. Don’t come back 
under any circumstances. All your people that could get 
away, have left the town.” 

Weak and broken as he was, Merton would have re¬ 
turned to the town in a moment, when the yellow scourge 
was at its height, had the wardens or his people expressed 
the least wish for his presence; but they earnestly advised 
him not to return. They being on the ground,and being 
well acquainted with all the attending circumstances,should 
know better than Merton what was needed,and what he 
should do; and Merton therefore properly enough deter¬ 
mined to act according to their j udgment. Now there hap¬ 
pened to be a clergyman in the South,free from danger 
himself, who for certain reasons was an inveterate enemy to 
Merton. This man took it upon himself to force Merton to 
return. Merton informed him that he held himself, weak as 
he was,subject to the call of the people. Such information 
was not enough for this clergyman, who, it would appear, 
would not have gone into mourning, in case of Merton’s 
death. Finally he plotted against Merton with the bishop; 
and being an old acquaintance of this clergyman, the bishop 
was led to side with him,and thus became an enemy to Mer¬ 
ton,even taking away the small appropriation that had been 
given him to assist in building the parish up,thus making it 
impossible for Merton to go back, even when sufficient 
strength returned. Dear as this people and minister were to 
each other,they were driven asunder by the machinations of 
an evil-hearted clergyman. Merton was always ready to go 
where duty called him; but he was not such as could be forced 
by an enemy into doing anything against his will. Had the 
members of his congregation expressed any desire for his 
presence, he undoubtedly would have gone back immedi¬ 
ately, on the very wings of love, although it would,in all 




THE CAEE OF DUTY. 


173 


probability, have cost him his life. But we do not mean by 
this that he would have thought it wise to return. We mean 
that he would have laid down his life rather than that his 
people should ask for his presence in vain, or think of him as 
being afraid of the disease. But as he did not think it,as no 
one should,a sign of bravery to sacrifice one’s life, where 
duty does not call; he obeyed the advice of his people, rather 
than the dictation of his enemies. If the belief were true, 
that the prayers of a minister at the dying bed, or the recep¬ 
tion of a sacrament by the dying, could materially affect the 
future of the soul, then there would be no question but that, 
weak as he was, Merton should have gone back,even against 
the expressed wish of his people; but such belief he did not 
and could not accept; nor did he believe that any enlightened 
and unprejudiced mind can. He never had any faith in 
death-bed repentance; and he fully believed that one good 
nurse was worth any number of praying priests, at the bed¬ 
side of a sick man. That the mercy of God is conditioned on 
the prayers of a minister,or heaven opened by the power of 
the church, he considered not only an absurd but a blasphe¬ 
mous claim. Thus believing, the only use, in his judgment, 
he could be to the sick, would be to act as a nurse; and know¬ 
ing that his weakness and inexperience rendered him unfit 
to act in that capacity, he concluded it wise to accept the ad¬ 
vice of competent men who warned him not to return; and to 
stay where his life, in all probability, would be spared as a 
blessing to those most dear to him, and dependent on his ex¬ 
ertions. And although, as he afterwards learned,the bishop 
of the diocese was not pleased at his decision, he doubted not 
that any sane and unprejudiced man would have approved 
his course. The bishop Was by nature kind-hearted 
and most affable; but he was now very old, and so 
weak-minded that, influenced as we have said, he was 
easily led to act detrimentally to Merton’s interests. 


174 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUR. 


Where duty calls one, there should he always be found, 
serving God and humanity. Thus performing our part, 
danger may surround, and threaten us on every side; 
but greater is the danger that must ever threaten him who 
shuns the performance of his duty. In the former case, while 
the death of the body is at most only contingent, the life of 
the soul is certain,because discharging one’s duty ennobles 
the nature,and tends to the elevation of the whole race; but 
in the. latter case, while the life of the body is probable, the 
death of the soul is inevitable,because the wilful avoidance 
of one’s duty, debases the higher nature, and tends to the 
degradation of humanity. The preservation of the body at 
such a cost,is vastly too expensive. Here it is certainly true: 
He that would lose his life, shall save it; and he that would 
save his life,shall lose it. Nevertheless, the body is no less 
the work of God than is the soul, though the office of the 
former is considered less noble than that of the latter. It is, 
therefore, a very grave sin to wilfully destroy the body, or 
injure any of its members. , And even where one’s actions 
unintentionally result in the death of the body, great sin 
must be incurred, if such result should have been prevented* 
by the proper use of reason. Many a man has been given, 
especially by the press, the death of a hero; when wisdom as¬ 
sures us,it was the death of a fool. The noble nature shuns 
no danger that ought to be encountered, and runs into no 
danger that ought not to be faced. Where duty had called 
Merton, there he never knew what it was to be afraid; but 
he always thought it most unwise, if not sinful, to rush un¬ 
reasonably into danger. Says Aristotle, than whom proba¬ 
bly no nobler person ever lived, and whose wisdom has, 
perhaps, never been equalled: 

l 'Uar eirel ^ avdpeia eariv ij eXriarrj 2£ts wept 06/?oi'S nai Odppt), 
Set 5 e p^Q' ovrw s ws oi Opaaeh pr)d' ovtcj s ws oi 8 ei\ol StjXov ws 
17 ptait) diddeais dpaatinqros Kai SetXtas eariv avdpeia .... 
H 7 dp avdpeia dKoXoddrjais rip Xdycp iariv, 9 Se X070S rd KaXbv 



THE CALL, OF DUTY. 


175 


acpecadac xeXeoec. Aco xac c o prj dca toutov bizopevov aura , duzos 
rjroi e^eazrjxev rj Opaeus .' '0 pev oov dedos xai a py dec <pofteczac, 
6 xe Opaaus xai a prj dec Oappec' o d' avdpecos apcpio a dec , xac 
zaorrj peaos eaucv. C A yap av 6 Xoyos xeXeuy, zaoza xac dappec 
xac <pofteczac — Since true manliness is the best state in rela¬ 
tion to fear and rashness, and since it is necessary that the 
truly brave should be neither such as the rash man is nor 
such as is the coward, it is evident that the middle state be¬ 
tween rashness and cowardice, is true manliness. True 
bravery is obedience to the reason, and reason bids us strive 
for that which is noble. Therefore, he who, when surrounded 
by danger, is not guided by reason, is either cowardly or 
rash. The coward fears where he should not, and the rash 
man is fearless where he should not be. But the truly brave 
acts in both instances as he should, and, therefore, fills the 
middle position ; for he is both fearless and fearful as rea¬ 
son directs him.” (Eud. Eth. Ill, 1, [3-4, 10-12.] ) 

As far as the fear of death has affected me, I have often 
longed to die, to escape, as it were, from a prison, and to see 
if perchance there be something better in store for me ; no 
less than to be forever free from a world, where the insincere 
and the pretentious are received with the plaudits of the 
crowd, while the candid and truly learned seek in vain for 
recognition. It can not be doubted that humanity is as 
greatly deceived, as it is given to deception. Mankind likes 
flattery, and to be made the heir of great expectations. It 
is this in man that offers such great opportunities to the 
hypocritical, the insincere and the pretentious, whether in 
the pulpit or elsewhere ; it is this that gives the holy knave 
and the rascally politician such open fields to reap their 
golden harvests. But longed as I have to die, reason bids 
me wait my time ; to be brave, sincere and true, no less for 
my own sake than as an example to others. I wonder not, 
however, at people committing suicide ; for it takes a brave 


176 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUT. 


man to withstand the many evils to which more especially 
the good are frequently subjected; the less brave, becoming 
disheartened, seek rest in death. As Agathon says: 

“4>a0\oi PpoT&v yap tov iroveiv i](r<nbp.evot 

davdv tpuaiv —Base mortals, being worsted in 
the conflict of life, prefer to die.” 

But the truly brave will abide his time, doing as best 
he can, whatever his hands may find to do; showing a noble 
example of patience and suffering to his own and to others, 
hoping thereby to ennoble his own character, and to elevate 
the race. He will not sacrifice his life nor jeopardize it, 
except for noble and worthy ends; but where the voice of 
reason calls him, there, if it be proper, he is willing to yield 
his life into the hands of Him who gave it. It was in this 
spirit that Merton acted with reference to his work in the 
South. The act of the bishop,however,in withdrawing from 
the parish its appropriation, was designed to make it im¬ 
possible for Merton to be supported. After waiting several 
months to see if the bishop would not relent, Merton sent 
the secretary of the vestry his resignation, to take immed¬ 
iate effect, thus severing all relations with the parish he 
could not fail to like, and with a people he could not fail to 
love. If ten thousand lives were given him, and the use of 
ten thousand tongues, yet he would not forget their kind¬ 
ness, nor cease to speak of them with gratitude and love. 

It was a short time after his resignation, that Merton 
received the following letter from one of the principal 
communicants: 

“My dear Friend;—I must write you to express my dis¬ 
tress at the news of your resignation of the charge of our 
Church. I have seen nearly all the people, and they express 
the greatest regret and distress; and all are resolved to ac¬ 
cept nobody else. We need you so much,—indeed I can not 
reconcile myself to the idea of your never coming back. Will 



THE CALL OF DUTY. 


177 


you not come back to us? All are so much distressed at your 
not returning. Can you not be induced to come back? Why 
should you care for what any one else might do or say,when 
all of us want you. Do say you will come back. I can not 
express to you the disappointment of your people.” 

“Your friend, M. C.” 

To answer in the affirmative was impossible. The bar¬ 
riers an unkind bishop had set up, were too high for 
Merton to surmount. At this uncalled-for act of the bishop, 
Merton could not help deeply grieving; but in those periods 
of deep despondency, his wife would buoy him up; and no 
man could have long despaired, with such a source of life 
and strength so near at hand. 

Ich sprach zur Sonne: “Sprich, was ist die Liebe? ” 

Sie gab nicht Antwort, gab nur goldnes Licht. 

Ich sprach zur Blume: “Sprich, was ist die Liebe?” 

Sie gab mil* Dueftc, doch die Antwort nicht. 

Ich sprach zum Ew’gen: “Sprich, was ist die Liebe?” 

Ist’s heil’ger Ernst? ist’s suesse Taendelei?” 

Da gab mil* Gott ein Weib, ein treues, liebes, 

Und nimmer fracht’ ich was die Liebe sei. 

(Ritterhates.) 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

CLERICAL SKEPTICISM. 

Wisdom from above is pure and without hypocrisy. 

, (St. yantes.) 

\>f ERTON now obtained a parish in another state. He had 
J met the bishop,who pressed him to take work in his 
diocese. “Stay with me, Mr. Merton,” he said: “I believe 
you are the very man I have been looking for. It seems to 
me God has sent you to me. I will make everything for you 
as pleasant as I possibly can. I treat my clergy well. I try 
to act to them as a father, and wish them to treat me as such. 
Their happiness is mine,and I make it a rule never to betray 
their confidence. If you stay with me, I think you will not 
regret it. We have a flourishing state, and the church work 
of the diocese is in a flourishing condition. Men and money 
are all that’s wanted. Help me build up this great work. ’ ’ 
The bishop appeared so affable, and spoke so kindly, 
that Merton resolved to accept his invitation; and immedi¬ 
ately took work under him. 

He had not been long in the diocese, before he met a 
clergyman who was rector of a neighboring parish, when 
the following conversation took place: 

“Well, Mr. Merton, how do you like your present posi¬ 
tion?” 

“I am very well pleased with it,” replied Merton. 
“You, I believe, have been in this diocese a great many 
years. From what diocese did you come?” 

“I came from Pennsylvania here; but I heartily wish 
I had never left that state. ’ ’ 

“Why?” asked Merton. “You have a good parish, 
and a loyal people. On the whole, it seems to me, you 

178 


CLERICAL SKEPTICISM. 


179 


should be quite a happy man. ’ ’ 

“Happiness, Mr. Merton, is a word. As an existing 
state, it is rarely, and perhaps never, found. For my part, 
I no longer hope to attain to such a state of mind. * ’ 

“I do not know, sir,” answered Merton; “but it seems 
to me that a man filling the position you fill, should not 
only have the hope of being happy, but even the present 
experience of happiness. ’ ’ 

“I know,Mr. Merton,”replied the clergyman, “that it is 
much to say I have lost hope; but I have had great discour¬ 
agement. When I came here, the bishop made me great 
promises. I was at first the chief minister in this diocese, 
and the bishop’s right-hand man. I was made the head of 
all the educational institutions; and the bishop sought to 
advance my interests. Things were soon changed. The large 
institution over which I presided,burned to the ground; and 
there are not wanting those who believe that the bishop 
burned it. One thing is certain: at the time of the destruc¬ 
tion of the institution, there had been in it, for several days, 
an emissary of the bishop. This fact made out a strong case 
against the bishop,inasmuch as he was known to be opposed 
to the site of the institution; and the further fact that he 
afterwards used all his powers to remove the centre of ed¬ 
ucational work, and finally succeeded in doing it T almost 
made the case complete against him. I do not say much 
about it myself; but I am sure that the people of my parish 
believe the bishop was a party to the burning up of my 
institution.” 

“It is a very grave charge even to suspect one of doing, ’ ’ 
replied Merton. ‘ ‘The bishop has been very gracious to me; 
and I hope we shall be good friends. I am sorry that you 
have been disappointed in your hopes; but all of us are 
more or less.” 

‘ ‘Disappointed, Mr. Merton,is hardly a name for it. I have 


l8o FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 

been grieved,hurt,deeply wounded,at my treatment. I have 
a thousand times wished I had never seen the diocese. It has 
so discouraged me that I am almost unfit for any work. I tell 
you, between the worry and duties of a parish minister, and 
the mischief-working power of a jealous and unfriendly 
bishop, there is little chance of rest or peace; as for happi¬ 
ness, it is simply out of the question.” 

“Even with all your trouble,” replied Merton, “you 
have the satisfaction that you are doing God’s work, and of 
having upon you his promised blessing. After all, that is 
more than all else. ’ ’ 

“You are but young as yet in the work, Mr. Merton. 
Things will not look as green to you sometime in the future, 
as now. Experience brings great changes over man’s heart 
and mind.” 

“I presume you are right as to that. Even in my own 
case, I am conscious of very great changes that have passed 
over me, within the last few years. Only a dead man is not 
subject to change. But granting that,yet it still is true, that 
no work is so noble, as that of trying to lift up fallen hu¬ 
manity. ’ ’ 

“Fallen humanity! Mr. Merton, what do you mean by 
such language? Do you mean to say that j^ou believe in 
what is called the fall of man?’ ’ 

“No,sir; not as generally understood. I could not think 
of believing that by one man’s sin, all mankind fell; that 
Adam is the trunk, and we the branches. The doctrine of 
evolution, now universally received in some form or other, 
has shown that such a belief is absurd. But I do believe that 
we all have come short of the glory of God; and that hu¬ 
manity, as a whole, is in great need of holy examples, and 
fearless and scholarly instructors who may lift them up, by 
pointing them out the way to a holier and better life. ’ ’ 

* ‘That is acceptable doctrine, Mr. Merton. I feared you 


CLERICAL SKEPTICISM 


181 


believed that humanity had fallen into some big ditch or 
other, dug by the theologians of days gone by. I am glad 
you have graduated out of such crudity. It is a noble work, 
I confess,to be engaged in raising mankind up into a higher 
life; but much of the pleasure derived from such activity, is 
embittered by the sense of having all around us scheming 
priests and plotting bishops. Indeed, I have often wished I 
had never seen the ministry,nor put on a surplice. ’ ’ 

“I can not exactly understand you;”said Merton. “I 
am glad I am a minister. I think no work gives such blessed 
fruits, and that no life can be so well spent, as that of a faith¬ 
ful minister of God. ’ ’ 

“I think you are exaggerating,Mr. Merton,the value of 
ministerial labors; but that is quite natural. For myself I 
doubt not that I could have done more good in the world, 
had I chosen exclusively educational work; nor do I think 
the rewards of such labor are second to any.” 

‘ ‘The works of the mind and its education are truly ex¬ 
cellent,” replied Merton; “but surely the work and educa¬ 
tion of the soul are vastly superior. The minister has to do 
with educating the soul, while the teacher has to do with the 
intellect only. ’ ’ 

“You forget, Mr. Merton, that the minister, nine times 
out of ten, deals with, and speaks of, only unknown quanti¬ 
ties; while the teacher has to do only with known realities. 
The foundations of priestly labors are based on faith: knowl¬ 
edge is beyond his sphere. You remember the words of 
Tennyson: 

‘We have but faith; we can not know; 

For knowledge is of things we see; 

And yet we trust it comes from thee, 

A beam in darkness: let it grow.’ 

On the other hand, the work of the teacher is based upon 
experimental facts. The work of the former is of some other 


182 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUT. 


world, heavenly,but of which nothing whatever is certainly 
known; while the work of the latter is of this world, earthly, 
and therefore fully comprehended. I think on the whole, Mr. 
Merton,putting the value of the work with the certainty of 
the instruction,that the teacher’s position is the more desir¬ 
able. I certainly wish that I had given my life to the work 
of teaching. No work can be more divine than that of train - 
ing youthful minds; no building more divine than that 
which is given to such noble work. I always feel more of 
the Holy Ghost when inculcating the truths of science, than 
when reading many of those nice-sounding, unsubstanti¬ 
ated, and incredible platitudes of the prayerbook. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘The prayerbook,’ ’ replied Merton, ‘ ‘may contain many 
things hard to believe, and harder still to understand; but 
there is surely a vast difference between a place where 
mental instruction is given and^ a church where God Al¬ 
mighty is worshiped and glorified. The school is built by 
man; the church is built by God.” 

‘‘You are now giving us a little more of unsubstantiated 
doctrine, Mr. Merton. A building is nothing of itself,—neith¬ 
er holy nor unholy. It is the work done within the building 
that gives character to it; and, as I said before, there can be 
no higher work than that of training youthful minds. There¬ 
fore the school-building is as much a temple built by God,as 
is the cathedral. The church is an institution founded and 
continued in the world by good-minded men,for the purpose 
of doing good. This is the most that dan be said for it. It is 
divine so far as its work is divine, and no farther. I am sure 
that very much of church work is anything else than divine, 
I must reassert what I have already said: there is no nobler 
or diviner work than that of the teacher. I hope, however, 
you may always be as zealous and hopeful, as at present. 
Nevertheless, I fear that a few more years of active service, 
in church work, will have a tendency to change your views. 



CLERICAL SKEPTICISM. 


183 


You will find that there is something more than a naughty 
world to deal with ; f you will find some naughty brethren; and 
perhaps you may find the latter worse foes than the former.” 

“‘I hope,” said Merton, ‘‘that your fears may never be 
realized by me; and that you may yet rejoice that you 
never chose teaching as a profession. Your life has, in some 
things, been a disappointment; so your rejoicing may, in 
God’s own time, be unexpectedly great.” 

‘‘Thank you, Mr. Merton. Before we part, allow me to 
say that what I have said to you, I have said in confidence. 
I would not speak to every one as I have spoken to you. 
Please, do not mention my name in connection with the 
substance of our conversation. It would do no good; it 
might do much harm.” 

Having promised not to mention his name in connection 
with the matter of conversation, Merton bade him good¬ 
night; but he could not help thinking, how greatly disagree 
the heart and countenance of the average pulpit orator. 
Hypocrisy is always and ever bad; but its evil is proportion¬ 
ate to the greatness of the subject in the treatment of which 
man professes to be what he is not. It is difficult to con¬ 
ceal the truth in any case; most Of all, in religious matters. 
In the words of Emerson: ‘‘Who is the better for the phil¬ 
osopher who conceals his accomplishments, and hides his 
thoughts from the waiting world? Hides his thoughts! 
Hide the sun and moon. Thought is all light, and pub¬ 
lishes itself to the universe. It will speak, though you 
were dumb, by its own miraculous organ. It will flow 
out of your actions, your manners, and your face.” 

Many as the beauties are that may, as the result of per¬ 
sistent efforts, adorn the soul of man; no accomplishments 
or mental possessions can ever outrank sincerity and truth¬ 
fulness. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

WORDS AND WORKS. 

Justitiae partes sunt non violare homines , vericundiae non offendere — 
Not to wrong man, nor offend modesty are principles of justice. 

. (Cicero.') 

J T was at the diocesan convention. All the clergy,with the 
bishop at their head, were met together to consider the 
matters pertaining to the welfare of the church. 

After a good deal of clerical electioneering, and maneu¬ 
vering, which might well have excited the admiration of the 
most astute politician, so skilfully is the slate prepared, and 
with such tactics are the favorites elected, all the dirty and 
rusty machinery being at the same time carefully oiled with 
spiritual unction, that as little friction as possible may be 
created, the various committees were appointed, and the of¬ 
ficers and delegates elected, and things shaped in accordance 
with the determination of the ruling majority, with the ex¬ 
ception, perhaps, of those matters over which the bishop 
himself had exclusive regulation. It was then that the com¬ 
mittee of which Merton was a member, was asked to meet, in 
the evening, in a room, at the residence of the bishop of the 
diocese. There was at the time a friend visiting Merton, who 
was most refined in manners, most gentlemanly in appear¬ 
ance, very scholarly, and one of the most skilful physicians 
and surgeons in the land. This gentleman had been brought 
up a Quaker; but was then what is generally called an un¬ 
believer. Merton was very desirous of bringing his friend 
into the church; and thought it would be wise to introduce 
him to the bishop. To this end he invited the gentleman to 
accompany him, on the evening in question, to the bishop’s 
residence,knowing that the bishop would be there, and that 

184 


WORDS AND WORKS. 


185 


there would be a good opportunity for introduction and con¬ 
versation. The gentleman readily consented; for he ex¬ 
pected a pleasant time with the bishop, who was fat enough 
for a jolly, good-natured prelate. 

The members of the committee being hard at work pre¬ 
paring the reports, Merton was obliged to leave his friend in 
the care of the bishop; and he hoped that by such inter¬ 
course with the head of the diocese, his friend might be in¬ 
fluenced to come into the church. 

The bishop sat in a large, easy chair, smoking a cigar, 
and having his feet elevated high upon the back of another 
chair. While in this position, the bishop was guilty of con¬ 
duct which is everywhere regarded as indicative of the low¬ 
est vulgarity. Every one was astonished; and Merton felt 
as if he should cry for the rocks and hills to fall on him, that 
he might be hidden from the gaze of his friend, who ap¬ 
peared filled with righteous indignation. 

The work of the committee having been finished, Mer¬ 
ton leaving the residence of the bishop, passed into the open 
air, in company with his friend. No sooner had they gained 
the street, than his friend exclaimed: “Great God! Is that 
your bishop! By Jove! he beats a cow-boy. That beats all 
I have ever heard,or conceived of,in my life. Solomon says 
there is nothing new under the sun, and he is supposed to 
have been a wise man; but he little knew of the many in¬ 
ventions of this wonderful age; he never was introduced to 
the head of this diocese. Your bishop should have been 
sent to the World’s Fair; even now he would make a fine 
addition to Barnum’s museum,if the monkeys didn’t expel 
him. After this my faith in evolution will be greatly in¬ 
creased; for I swear no monkey living in the days of Solo¬ 
mon, could be guilty of such conduct, and yet remain in 
simian society; and if to-day it should be, its fellows would 
beat its brains out with a cocoanut shell.” 


186 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


“My dear doctor,” said Merton,“I am no less shocked 
than you. While I never thought the bishop a very re¬ 
fined or very polite gentleman, I have had no cause for 
supposing he was insulting. It may be we should consider 
the act wholly unpremeditated. ’ ’ 

“Nonsense, Mr. Merton; you know better.” 

“Well, doctor,” said Merton, “let that pass; and in 
order to restore your usual equanimity, I will tell you 
something ridiculous indeed.” 

“If you have anything of that kind, Mr. Merton, let us 
have it. Perhaps I can laugh myself out of the rage I am in.” 

“One morning,” continued Merton, “when I was rector 
of St.Peters,Eowton,I heard a knock at the door. On open¬ 
ing it, I saw a clerically dressed gentleman holding a valise 
in his hands. He appeared a stranger to me, and to have 
a wild, almost insane look about his eyes.” 

“ ‘Good morning, sir,’ he said. ‘This is the Rev. Mr. 
Merton, I believe. I am just coming from the mountains. 
Please excuse the absence of my clerical tie. I really had 
no time to make my toilet.’ 

“ ‘Are you a minister of an Episcopal church there?’ I 
asked. 

“ ‘Yes, sir. Don’t you remember me, Mr.Merton? I am 
surprised. Some people are that way. They don’t remem¬ 
ber names nor faces. I may forget a name, but I never for¬ 
get a face. I think the faculty of remembering names and 
faces one of the most useful to man; but, of course, I readily 
excuse you, as we were never very well acquainted. Still, I 
think it a duty devolving on the profession, to study how 
best to remember names. Don’t you think so, Mr. Merton?’ 

“‘Yes,sir,’ I replied. ‘I certainly would like to remember 
names better than I do; however, I recognize your counte¬ 
nance. I have seen you somewhere; where I know not.’ 

“ ‘O, Mr. Merton,’ he said, ‘how very forgetful! I am 


WORDS AND WORKS. 187 

the Rev. Mr. Insanitas who was present at your ordination 
to the priesthood.’ 

“ ‘ Excuse me, Mr. Insanitas,’ I replied, ‘ I had forgotten 
your appearance ; however, I remember you now. Come in, 
sir, and take dinner with us. It is almost dinner hour.’ 

“ ‘ Now I am in your study, Merton’, he said, ‘ perhaps 
you would like to know, why I am here. I will tell you. A 
few days ago I left the little cabin where I live by myself, 
and went out calling. About half-past three or four o’clock, 
I called on Mrs. So-and-so, who, as usual, received me very 
politely. Almost unconsciously the time passed away ; and 
the hour for tea having arrived, I was invited to take tea 
with her. As Mr. So-and-so was absent in the mountains, 
and would not return for some days, I thought it would be 
a favor to the lady, should I prolong my visit a little. So 
after tea we sat down, and talked about the affairs of the 
church until eight o’clock. I then felt a chill coming over 
me, and expressed my fears to the lady, saying I wished I 
could lie down a few minutes. She invited me to rest on the 
lounge, and gave me a shawl to cover myself with. I did so, 
and the rest and warmth seemed to help me. While thus 
resting, she told me it was nine o’clock, but that I had no 
need to hurry, unless I felt able to go. I told her I would 
leave in a few minutes. Before I knew it, I was fast asleep, 
and did not awake again before half-past ten, when, to my 
surprise, I discovered the lady had left the house. The next 
day it was rumored abroad in the village, that the Rev. In¬ 
sanitas had gone to the house of Mrs. So-and-so, in the ab¬ 
sence of her husband, and taken tea with her, and stayed 
until very late at night; that when she desired him to leave, 
he didn’t take the hint; that finally she went across the 
road, and asked a neighbor to come over, and put him out 
of the house ; and that the gentleman replied, that Mr. In¬ 
sanitas might go to the devil for all he cared ; that he would 


* i88 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUT. 


have nothing to do with such a crazy lunatic. The next 
morning every kind of disgraceful thing was said ; and in 
two or three days, reports of tarring and feathering me were 
current all over the place. Knowing the state of things, I 
packed my valise, and left. Now, really, if a woman should 
have come into my cabin, I would have gone through the 
window, if not through the door, in a minute. I really de¬ 
spise the sex ; and I swear I'll do the work no more, which 
brings me in constant intercourse with them. Preaching I 
like well enough ; but pastoral work I do despise, and I’ll do 
it no more.’ 

“ What do you think of that, doctor ? I told Mr. Insan- 
itas, I was very sorry to know that he was so much perse¬ 
cuted ; that my experience with the female sex was just op¬ 
posite to his ; that I had always found the women my trust¬ 
worthy friends ; that I had great pleasure in visiting them ; 
and that the pastoral work of the ministry was very delight¬ 
ful to me.” 

“Well, Merton,” replied the doctor, “I think Mr. In- 
sanitas as you call him, is a fit subject for the lunatic asylum, 
as your bishop is for the menagerie.” 

“ My dear doctor, if one thing more than another tempts 
me to quit the work of the ministry, it is the knowledge of 
the inferior manhood which enters it.” 

“ It is rather late for you to know that, Merton; I sup¬ 
posed it was a fact known to all. It has been known to me 
all my life. Of course a man will find exceptions ; but the 
rule is that a man who possesses brains, will go where he can 
use it, and not where, in the very nature of things, it must 
become as stagnant water.” 

“ But, doctor, I think the pulpit should be the very field 
of labor where the profoundest and highest mind could ac¬ 
complish the most for himself and others.” 

“ I’ll admit, Merton, that it should be ; but I deny that 


WORDS AND WORKS. 189 

it is. In proof of this, I think we have seen and heard 
enough to-night in the person of your bishop. ’ ’ 

To this reply Merton could make no answer; and he 
feared greatly that the example of his bishop had no tend¬ 
ency to hasten the time when his friend should enter into 
the active service of the church. 

Some time after this, at another diocesan convention, 
Merton was invited to preach for one of the clerical dele¬ 
gates. It was communion-day, and Merton was assisting 
in the celebration. When the time had come for the con¬ 
secration of the elements, all the congregation left the 
building, with the exception of six or eight. Notwith¬ 
standing this fact, Merton saw that the clergyman poured 
out wine enough for at least twenty communicants. In a 
few minutes all had communed; but as yet much of the 
so-called element, representing the blood of Christ, remain¬ 
ed unspent, and a little of the element representing the 
body. Some were therefore invited forward again, and 
once more they partook of the bread; but no wine was 
offered them. Merton also received a second time of the 
bread, but not of the wine. Merton was on his knees, 
reverently worshipping God, when the celebrant, taking 
the chalice in his hand, gulped down the wine, as a drunk¬ 
en Dutchman drinks his lager. Merton really thought that 
the clergyman would choke himself; but he was too well 
accustomed to strong drink, as was afterwards discovered. 

A person might charitably think that it was simply a 
mistake with the celebrant, to consecrate so much wine; 
but not so. Before consecration he had counted the num¬ 
ber of communicants remaining; and besides he did not 
make the same mistake in consecrating the bread: for of 
this but little remained after dll had partaken the first time. 
To make it still worse, the celebrant had no sooner entered 
the vestry, than he deliberately took the vessel in which 


190 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUF. 


the communion wine was kept, and drank more, at the same 
time offering it to Merton, who refused. On the way to 
the clergyman’s residence, where Merton had been invited 
to dine, they passed a beer-saloon, into which the clergy¬ 
man invited Merton to enter to drink a glass of ale. Two 
or three days before the celebration mentioned above, while 
at the convention, at a reception given at the bishop’s res¬ 
idence, this same clergyman, being alone with Merton,drew 
from an inside pocket a bottle, saying: “Take a little, 
Merton. It is some fine old Irish whiskey.” 

Merton thanked the gentleman, but declined to partake. 

When speaking of these occurrences, in his own home, 
Merton said, “Oh, my wife, I was shocked at such irrev¬ 
erence, and disgusted at such indecency. That such men 
can call themselves messengers of the Most High,is enough 
to make the blood of a noble man run cold. ’ ’ 

“I sometimes think, Harry,” she replied, “that it is a 
good thing people do not see the hearts of men who stand 
in the pulpits. I fear, if they did, the cry, ‘exeant sacer- 
dotes,’ would soon go forth.” 

Similar instances of such clerical deportment and irrev¬ 
erence, as have been given in this chapter, might be in¬ 
definitely multiplied. But let it suffice to say that we have 
only given what we thought necessary, to place before the 
thoughtful reader another factor in the development of the 
soul-life of Henry Merton; another proof that much dogma 
may be believed, while little reason is exhibited. 


CHAPTER XX. 

DISHONORABLE CONDUCT. 


Fundamentum justitiae est Jides , id est dictorum conve?itorumqu «r 
const anti a ct veritas — 

The fundamental principle of justice is faith, which means con¬ 
stancy and truth with reference to our words and engagements. 

[Cicero.) 

'“jpHERE is certainly nothing in man so worthy of praise, 
or so much to be desired, as a proper sense of honor, or 
the possession of what is rightly called high-mindedness. 
Honor first of all has reference to the keeping of one’s word. 
“ Turpe estfidem violare ,” is an old proverb; and it is un¬ 
doubtedly true that in the keeping of his word, the honor¬ 
able man is most distinguishable from the dishonorable. 
Another characteristic of honor or high-mindedness, is the 
desire to confer benefits and not to receive them. The noble 
soul will suffer much rather than humiliate himself by ask¬ 
ing favors; while at the same time,his great desire is to scat¬ 
ter blessings as he goes. In the conferring of benefits, there 
results a feeling of pleasure; while in the receiving of bene¬ 
fits, although good may sometimes thus be accomplished, 
there results, in the noble heart, a sense of shame. The no¬ 
ble nature, therefore, is especially distinguishable from the 
ignoble by the possession of these two virtues—the keeping 
of his word, and the conferring of benefits. There are no vir¬ 
tues so useful to man as these two. In all our business re¬ 
lations, in all our .social intercourse, these virtues leave 
their blessings; while their absence leaves its curse. 

Now, as no position in life should be thought more ele¬ 
vated than that of the priest, it follows that no man should 
possess these virtues to a higher degree than he. But Mer • 
ton discovered to his sorrow that either from a lack of these 


192 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


virtues, or through wickedness in wilfully transgressing the 
obligations arising from their possession, for the sake of 
gain or pleasure, priests are frequently found who give but 
little evidence of possessing any such virtue as high-mind¬ 
edness or honor. 

It was a beautiful morning,and Merton was at his stud¬ 
ies, trying to reconcile, however vainly, dogma and reason, 
when a gentleman came unexpectedly into his room,having 
opened the door without knocking, or giving any warning 
of his approach. 

“Hello! This is the Rev. Merton,I believe. I am Dean 
Megalauchus. I am on a fishing excursion, and thought it 
a good time to make your acquaintance. Those delivering 
the faith once given to the .saints, and living so near one an¬ 
other, can benefit sometimes by interchanging ideas. ’ ’ 

“My own experience, Mr. Megalauchus,” replied Mer¬ 
ton, “has convinced me that there is little interchange of 
ideas between clergymen. Bach one is wedded to his view, 
and determined never to be divorced from it. The average 
clergyman is a hydrozoa: he never lets go of what he at¬ 
taches himself to. This seeming faithfulness is not, as one 
might think, the result of manliness, in holding on to the 
truth; but of cowardice, in fearing to acknowledge conscious 
error. History gives us many names of great and noble men 
who have consecrated themselves at the altar of Science, 
and thereby brought us the richest blessings; but few are 
they who have possessed that noble manliness which en¬ 
ables one to abjure some life-long and cherished belief. I 
am glad to know you de^n, and hope you can preach for 
me next Sunday.” 

“Well, as to that, Mr. Merton, if I can’t preach for you, I 
can give your people a lecture. What would you like for a 
subject? You know the wants of your people better than I 
do; and should be better able therefore to judge what sub- 


DISHONORABLE CONDUCT. 


193 


ject they would prefer to hear me lecture on.” 

“I should say,Mr. Megalauchus,that you would prefer 
to choose )'our own subject. Most men have some subject 
on which they feel themselves able to lecture; and it must 
be admitted that the highest proof of one’s incompetency, is 
his claim of being able to speak on all subjects. Choose that, 
sir, on which you are best prepared. ’ ’ 

“You know, Mr. Merton, I’ve been all around the world. 
Just say what you would like me to speak on. I would as 
soon speak on one subject as another.” 

“Very strange, Mr. Megalauchus,”said Merton. “The 
sun goes all around the world every twenty-four hours, yet 
I would never think of inviting it to deliver a lecture. I do 
not think mere going around the world, can prepare any 
man to deliver a lecture worthy to be heard. Among those 
who have been around the world most frequently, are found 
many most coarse, and most void of intellectual ability. I 
hardly think that you would have approved my act, should 
I have invited the martyred Cook to preach for me on St.* 
Paul’s Epistles to the Romans.” 

“Well, it is not likely we can agree on all things, Mr. 
Merton, and, may be, we must disagree on this. Everybody 
has his own ideas about such things, and it is useless to try 
to change them. All I have to say is, name your subject, 
and let the rest go to me. It will be time enough to find 
fault, after I shall have failed to give you satisfaction.” 

“Suppose, then, Mr. Megalauchus, that you deliver a. 
lecture on science and religion. It is a subject in which I 
myself am very much interested, and on which I should be 
glad to receive any information that you may possess. ’ ’ 
“Splendid, Mr Merton! You have hit the nail on the 
head. Nothing could be more suitable to me, and the times 
are ripe for it. You mean for me to speak on the so-called 
disagreements between science and religion, do you not?” 


194 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUR. 


“Yes, sir. Infidelity is rampant in this city. Most of 
the influential men are unbelievers in the dogmas of Chris¬ 
tianity. Few of them go to church at all, and those who 
go, go more for the sake of social relations than for any be¬ 
lief in the four Evangelists. If you can do anything toward 
healing this sore, I am sure you will assist greatly in spread¬ 
ing the faith of which you have just now spoken. ” 

“All right, Mr. Merton. You will see that the lecture 
is well advertised. If there is one thing I hate in this 
world, it is speaking to a half-empty house. I would like 
for you to get it in the papers of the city, as well as speak 
to your congregation about it. On what day of the week 
shall I deliver the lecture? ’ ’ 

“Thursday evening would be a good time, Mr. Meg- 
alauchus. I believe no other evening is as good.” 

“All right, all right. I’ll be on hand Thursday even¬ 
ing; and I promise you a good time. I think I can show 
your people that the word of God remains true, though 
every man be a liar. Remember Thursday evening.” 

Agreeable to their understanding, Merton had an item 
inserted in the newspapers, that the Rev. Mr. Megalauchus, 
of Churchton, would deliver a lecture at the Episcopal 
church, the following Thursday evening, on Science and 
Religion. He also spoke of the matter in his visits. 

It was about six o’clock on Thursday evening. All 
preparations had been made, and Merton was momentarily 
expecting the Rev. Mr. Megalauchus. An hour passed, 
and yet the gentleman had not come. Merton then began 
to feel apprehensive lest Mr. Megalauchus should prove to 
be like some of the many other clergymen he had known, 
who thought so lightly of their word. When the hour had 
arrived for Merton to go to the church, he went, taking with 
him one of his old lectures, determined to deliver it, should 
Mr. Megalauchus fail to be on hand. The lecture was en- 


DISHONORABLE CONDUCT. 


195 


titled, “The Earth Past and Future.” The Rev. gentle¬ 
man did not make his appearance; and Merton entertained 
the audience as best he could with his own lecture. He 
felt, however, greatly ashamed that the people of the city 
should be thus treated by a clergyman of the church. 

In a day or two Merton addressed Mr. Megalauchus a 
letter asking an explanation of his conduct. It was answered 
in due time. “I was so busy,’’ he said, ‘‘with the dear little 
fishes that I could not bring, myself to forsake them. They 
came to me in such numbers that I might have fed the mul¬ 
titude in the wilderness. So attentive to me were they, in all 
my wants, that I felt it would be disrespectful in me to leave 
them. Under such circumstances I am sure any one would 
excuse me. Give my excuse to the people, and tell them 
I will come again some time, and redeem my promise.” 

Merton replied: “Although too much pride is an evil, 
yet I believe every one should think more of himself than 
of ‘the little fishes. ’ I do not think it an honor to you, sir, 
that you think more of fishing than of keeping your word 
inviolate. In the future, believe me, I will endeavor not 
to disappoint my people with the promise of a man able to 
lecture on anything, and who has been all around the 
world simply to learn that his word is of less value than a 
few little fishes. ,r 

To this letter Merton received no reply; nor did he ever 
see Mr. Megalauchus again; and certainly he had no de¬ 
sire to. 

At another time, Merton was visited by a minister who 
said he was in great need of money, and begged Merton 
to lend him ten dollars for two or three days. Merton had 
but little money; and the little he had, he more than 
needed for home use. But so pitiable were the minister’s 
pleadings, especially to a nature so ill adapted to with¬ 
standing the pleadings of misery as Merton’s was, that 


196 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


even against the advice of his wife, Merton loaned him the 
money, on his promise to return it within five days. 
“Here sir”, said Merton, “are the ten dollars. I can ill 
afford to part with the money at this time; but on your 
promise to return it within five days, I let you have it. ” 

“As sure as there is a God in heaven, Mr. Merton,” 
he said, “I will return you the money by that time.” 

“I will give you ten days, sir,” replied Merton, “and, 
mind you, if the money is not in my hands by that time, 
I will remember you as a base man.” 

“I am quite willing for you to do so, Mr. Merton;” 
he said; “but there will be no danger about your money. 
The minister who would receive such kindness from 
another, and fail to return it, is not worthy to .stand in 
the pulpit. Believe me, you have no cause to fear.” 

From that day Merton never saw the minister, nor did 
he ever receive the money. Some persons might chari¬ 
tably imagine that his mind was afterwards too much en¬ 
grossed with the pursuits after holiness, and with the 
preaching of the faith once given to the saints, to remem¬ 
ber such little trifles; but we hold that charity is greatly 
misused when given to license dishonorable conduct. 
There is no place for charity here. 

On a beautiful Sunday morning, Merton invited Mr. 
Robins to preach for him, having learned that he greatly 
desired to do so. The gentleman preached an old- 
fashioned sermon: there is no salvation outside the church; 
life only through the blood of Christ; faith and not works 
brings salvation; the Episcopal minister is the only author¬ 
itative minister of Christ; and the Scriptures, as a whole 
and in every part, are divinely inspired and infallible writ¬ 
ings. His sermon was a fair enlargement of what is given 
us by Schiller, in his great play of Mary Stuart, as the 
words of that famous but ill-fated woman: 


DISHONORABLE CONDUCT. 


197 


Denn der allein ist es wfclcher selig macht— 

For that alone is the faith which gives salvation 

Much of the discourse was very offensive to Merton, 
who thought the action of Mr. Robins very discourteous 
at least, since he, being a guest, should have respected the 
well-known feelings of Merton. 

As soon as the services were over, and Mr. Robins and 
Merton had come into the vestry, Merton made the state¬ 
ment that the sermon had greatly offended him; and asked 
why he had chosen such an offensive subject for his pulpit. 
Mr. Robins thereupon acknowledged his own doubt about 
the truth of the statements he had made, by admitting he 
could not say in his heart he believed them. However, he 
had made them, he said, from the force of custom and habit, 
and because they were in general believed by church peo¬ 
ple. He was sorry,he said, that he had offended Merton,and 
wished he had preached on some less debatable subject. On 
questioning him, Merton discovered that he knew scarcely 
anything of modern thought, or of the more prominent mod¬ 
ern authors. So radically lacking was he in the informa¬ 
tion of the present day,that he confessed he was ashamed, 
and said: “I wish Dr. Merton, that I could be near you, to 
make myself better acquainted with the results of modern 
scholarship; for even the little education I had, I have never 
improved, being not naturally given to study. I am con¬ 
scious that there is a great conflict in the world between 
what is called revealed religion and advanced thought; but 
I have had scarcely any scientific education,—just enough 
to trouble me with doubts and fears, not enough to point me 
out the path clearly one way or the other. So in my doubts 
I go on keeping on the safe side. If I didn’t do this,nothing 
could result but trouble with my bishop, and ruin to my¬ 
self and family.” 

Now this man who could thus admit his doubts, was but 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUR. 


198 

a short time afterward made a bishop of the church. On this 
occasion he took good care to hide whatever doubts or fears 
his bosom possessed; yes, indeed, and the reason may be 
readily inferred: the power, and prestige, and salary of a 
bishop, were more than weighty enough to balance any lit¬ 
tle conscientious scruples of belief he had hidden in his 
bosom. 

In the parish of Woodville, where Merton was rector, 
there died an old negress. Having been baptized by a neigh¬ 
boring clergyman, the poor woman, at her death, requested 
Merton to permit this minister to make a few remarks at her 
funeral. The minister was very aged,being somewhat more 
than four-score years old; and the people of the parish gen¬ 
erally considered it a kind of amusement to hear him preach, 
so incoherently and irrelevantly did he speak. But Merton 
determinined that the wishes of the poor colored woman 
should be respected; and therefore invited the Rev. Mr. 
Gordon to speak at the funeral, at the same time informing 
him that he would see to the liquidation of whatever ex¬ 
penses might be incurred by his coming. The expense of 
coming, however, would be very light, as his parish was 
very near to Merton’s, and free entertainment would be 
given him. Mr. Gordon delivered his remarks in the room 
beside the coffin, in the presence of a great many negroes. 
Being a very poor preacher, it was natural that but few 
whites would wish to hear him. After the preliminary ser¬ 
vices, they departed for the cemetery. On their way to the 
burial-ground Mr. Gordon was merry and jocose, and even 
given to levity. On arrival at the cemetery,he asked if Mer¬ 
ton would permit him to bury the dead. Merton replied: 
“No. sir; among my own people I always bury the dead. 
While they are living, I do my best for them; when they 
are dead, I perform the last offices.” 

The rites were finished, and they had moved back a 


DISHONORABLE CONDUCT. 


I 99 


short distance from the grave, when Mr. Gordon was handed 
a folded bill. Merton saw a wave of pleasure pass over Mr. 
Gordon’s countenance as he took the money, and placed 
it in his pocket. They proceeded towards the gate, where 
the carriage awaited them; but before they reached it, Mr. 
Gordon was forced to put his hands into his pocket, and 
draw forth the note, that he might know its worth. As he 
drew it forth, and saw it was a ten-dollar bill, he grunted 
out, “Ha! ha! bless theTord! very good, very good!” and 
without further comment, put the bill back into his pocket. 
Now, every one should know that the money belonged to 
Merton, as well because he was the rector of the parish, as 
because he had performed most of the labor. It was Mr. 
Gordon’s duty to give the money to Merton, and Merton’s 
to see that Mr. Gordon was paid for such assistance as he had 
rendered. As Mr. Gordon was an old man, and almost 
eaten up with the love of money, Merton had fully made up 
his mind to present him with the bill, had Mr. Gordon 
handed it over to him; but as he did not, from that time 
Merton lost all respect for him. As this minister was with¬ 
out a sense of what was becoming, so was he selfish to the 
very heart. All the way to the cemetery, he talked of every¬ 
thing except of death or the grave; and all the way to the 
rectory,of everything except of handing Merton the money, 
or any portion.of it. Merton never spoke of this dishonor¬ 
able act; but he could never again invite so base a man into 
his parish. 

It was the like of this action that made Merton frequent¬ 
ly resolve,sometime afterwards,that when he died,he would 
be buried without priestly rites. There are, however, some 
good and true men in the ministry. Such are a comfort to 
the dying, and render desirable services at the burial of the 
dead. Nevertheless, the hypocrisy that Merton had wit¬ 
nessed at so many funerals, made the thought very painful 


200 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUI,. 


to him, that such might be acted over the burial of his own 
remains. 

At another time the bishop of the diocese visited Mer¬ 
ton’s parish, to administer the rite of confirmation. By 
chance their conversation turned on the question of denomi¬ 
national ministerial authority. Said the bishop: 

“It can not be doubted that you are the only authorized 
minister in this city. It is possible that you may consider 
the different denominational ministers here as your lieuten¬ 
ants, or assistants, or as laymen; but you can not think of 
them as authorized ministers of Christ, and remain loyal 
to the church. Even the Roman Catholic priest is here 
without any right or authority; since their very first coming 
into this country was an intrusion, and an offence to the 
church of Christ. The Episcopal Church was the first 
Catholic Church in this country; and therefore she is the only 
one that to-day is here by divine right. You must not 
surrender your birthright for a mess of pottage. ’ ’ 

And yet this very bishop, on the next day, in his ser¬ 
mon before the congregation,ainong which there were many 
of the ministers of the city, lauded the achievements of the 
various denominations; and called their ministers, “dear 
brethren,” and the chosen vessels of Christ to bear his gos¬ 
pel to the ends of the world. And all this was done for the 
purpose of winning the hearts of the congregation, and get¬ 
ting from them a large offertory. Merton was greatly of¬ 
fended at such dishonorable conduct; at the man who behind 
the backs of those ministers, could deny their orders, or 
their ministerial authority, and yet before their faces, for 
the sake of base gain, call them his brethren, and chosen 
ministers of Christ. 

The Rev. Mr. Ruckles, who had invited Merton to call 
on him, was the minister of one of the wealthiest congre¬ 
gations in the metropolis. During their conversation he said: 


DISHONORABLE CONDUCT. 


201 


“Your faith, Mr. Merton, is my faith; but I dare not speak 
just as I believe. Should I do so, it would only increase 
the existing trouble of my people, who are already suf¬ 
ficiently burdened with their own religious doubts and 
fears. ’ ’ 

On another occasion, Merton was invited to dine with 
the Rev. Mr. Frink, who had a very conspicuous position in 
the same city to which we have just made reference. While 
at dinner Mrs. Frink took an active part in the conversation; 
and Merton was not a little surprised at the skeptical nature 
of her views. 

“ Merton,” said the Rev. Mr. Frink, “I want you to 
know that my wife is a first-class infidel. ’ * 

“ Who could be other,” she replied, “after becoming 
acquainted with the history of the church, and the real 
nature of things. Is it not all for money, anyhow?” 

During Merton’s visit Mr. Frink clearly stated his dis¬ 
belief in the deity of Christ, in a fixed state after death, in 
the inspiration of the Scriptures, and in the resurrection of 
the dead; although he was supposed to be an orthodox 
preacher, and received his salary as such. Alas, that such 
deception could be found in the hearts of ministers! Truly, 
as Goethe says: 

Nach Golde draengt , 

Am Golde liaengt 

Dock Alles. —( Faust , 2802). 

We will not multiply the instances of dishonorable con¬ 
duct that Merton witnessed in his brethren; we have only 
given such as we thought would suffice to show another 
phase in the development of the new heart and mind which, 
in due time, were created in the being of Henry Merton, 
—a heart and mind consonant with reason, however much 
at variance with dogma. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

THE DOGMA OF CREATION. 

For in six days the Lord made heaven and earth, the sea and 
all that in them is. (Ex. xx. u). 

Ni\il autem nee mains nee melius mundo , necesse est ergo cum de- 
orum consilio et providentia administrari. 

But since nothing is greater nor better than the world, it fol¬ 
lows that it is governed by the counsel and providence of God. 

(Cicero: De Nat. Deo. ii.ji.) 

XT OTWITHSTANDING the painful life of Merton, 
^ owing to the mental tempests through which his soul 
was passing, his relations with his people and the citizens 
of the town were most pleasant. By all he was regarded as 
a man of purity of life, and of the highest educational at¬ 
tainments. It was because of his recognized scholarship 
that he was asked to prepare and deliver the following lec¬ 
ture based on Exodus xx. n: “For in six days the Eord 
made heaven and earth, the sea, and all that in them is.” 

“The literal sense of these words can not be misunder¬ 
stood ; nor would there seem any more reason for question¬ 
ing the meaning of this sentence than of that in which it is 
asserted that a carpenter built a house in three weeks. But 
within the last few years,comparatively speaking, it has be¬ 
come the custom, with the more scholarly theologians and 
ministers, to insist,under the pressure of scientific facts,that 
the word ‘days,’ in this sentence, does not mean days in re¬ 
ality, but periods of indefinite duration. Now, should a 
common architect, after having made the assertion, that a 
certain piece of work had been done in a certain number of 
days, declare, after his assertion had been found to be false, 
that he meant any certain period of time that might have 

been found requisite for the completion of the work, and not 

202 


THE DOGMA OF CREATION. 


203 


days in reality, honest men would regard him as a humbug 
rather than as a competent architect. But if an architect 
should be refused such an easy escape from the results of 
his own gross ignorance, surely God could not, on any rea¬ 
sonable ground, ask humanity to credit Him with meaning 
any time required to suit the occasion, after having dis¬ 
tinctly stated, that the required time was six days. In¬ 
deed, whatever leniency one might be supposed to show 
an architect, who after all his supposed skill, is but fallible 
man, and therefore subject by nature to mistake in thought 
and expression, there could be no ground whatever for allow¬ 
ing God any such excuse, who can not plead imperfection 
in thought, nor fallibility in judgment; and who must know 
better than to use, in his statements, any words that would 
necessarily lead men to make false conclusions. To the fair- 
minded man, it seems like begging the question, to assume 
that God means any indefinite periods of time, when He 
plainly says six days; and such an assumption does appear, 
on every ground of reason, to be most unwarrantable. 

“This daring spirit that reads into certain words of the 
Bible a meaning totally different from their literal import, is 
of very modern birth; and in a person who confessedly ad¬ 
mits the divine origin of such words, it is a spirit most un¬ 
worthy, irreverent, and condemnable. It is most dishonorable 
to charge God with the use of words that He did not intend 
using, that convey a false meaning, or that are necessarily 
subject to false construction, or to ambiguity. God can not 
be deceived in the understanding of his own works, nor de¬ 
sire to deceive his own creatures in investigating them; nor 
can He ever fail to choose the right word needed to convey 
the information He intends to impart. We therefore insist 
on the grounds of the majesty, greatness, and goodness of 
God,that if the world was not created in six days, the words 
at the head of our lecture can not have come from God, can 


204 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUI,. 


not have had a divine origin; and since no passage can be 
found in the whole Bible whose origin has been more uni¬ 
versally acknowledged to be divine, it follows that the 
disproof of the literal truth of these words must cast great 
discredit on the divine origin of the Bible as a whole. 

“We notice that the words of the Bible are, ‘heaven and 
earth.’ Commenting on the meaning of these words, 
Bishop Kidder says, ‘they are used to express what is 
otherwise called the world or universe;’ and Bishop Pear¬ 
son tells us that the Hebrews used them to denote ‘the grand 
extremities within which all things are contained.’ In 
simple English, therefore, the biblical statement is that 
God created the universe in six days. 

“The time that has elapsed .since the work of creation 
was completed, or since God entered upon his Sabbath, 
was, until very lately, believed by theologians to be quite 
definitely known. In the generally received version of 
the Bible, Archbishop Ussher’s chronology is used. This 
gives us 4004 years B. C. for the time since the work of 
creation was completed. Hales considers the event oc¬ 
curred 5411 years B. C.; Jackson, 5426 years B. C.; Pet_- 
avius, 3983 years B. C.; and Bunsen gives the time 20000 
years B. C., as about the date of Adam’s creation. This 
last date is declared by Reginald Stuart Poole to be one 
‘not only independent of, but repugnant to the Bible.’ 
Mr. Poole gives us, as the date of Adam’s creation, some 
time B C. between 5361 and 5421. 

“In the discussion of these words of Scripture, we shall 
in general confine ourselves to established or universally 
recognized geological and astronomical facts. 

“Nothing can be more certain than this, that all scien¬ 
tists regard the universe (we do not mean the matter of 
which the universe is composed) as having had a begin¬ 
ning, as having developed under law and order, and as 


THE DOGMA OF CREATION. 


205 


being subject to decay and death. Between science and 
miraculous occurrences there is an unending strife: the ad¬ 
mission of miracle is the exclusion of science. Science, 
therefore, has no place for miracle in its consideration; and 
the man who teaches miracle, or uses it, or depends on it, 
in the explanation of any phenomenon does by that very 
act itself exclude himself from the company of scientists, 
and conclusively show that he has not had a scientific edu¬ 
cation worthy of the name. Whatever object of scientific 
thought one may proceed to investigate to-day, there he 
will find that evolution, under some form or other, is uni¬ 
versally received as the great law by which such object has 
been developed from the starting-point of its existence. 

“When we speak of the earth, we know with absolute 
certainty that it is a planet related to the other planets of 
the solar system as brother to brother; and that the solar 
system itself is a stellar system similarly related to the 
other stellar systems that form our universe—the universe 
which the Bible says God created in six days. Now, al¬ 
though no competent scientist would be so rash as to set a 
limit before which none of the systems of this universe could 
have existed; any and all competent scientists are ready to 
stake all their reputation by asserting, without the least 
hesitation, that these stellar systems had their origin under 
ordinary development, and in the abyssmal depths of past 
time. Says Newcomb, one of tlie.foremost living astrono¬ 
mers: ‘The widest induction of modern science agrees with 
the speculations of thinking minds in past ages, in present¬ 
ing the creation of the material universe as a process rather 
than an act. This process began when the present material 
universe- was a mass of fiery vapor, filling the stellar spaces; 
it is still going on in its inevitable course, and it will end 
when sun and stars are reduced to cold masses of dead 
matter. The nebular hypothesis is indicated by the gen- 


206 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL,. 


eral tendency of the laws of nature. It has not been 
proved to be inconsistent with any fact; and it is almost 
a necessary consequence of the only theory by which we 
can account for the origin and conservation of the sun’s 
heat.’ 

“We have said that the solar system is but one of a 
family of stellar systems. Now, as children can not be with¬ 
out parents, so these various stellar systems that look out 
upon us from the awful depths of unfathomable space, could 
not be without once having had a parent body from which 
they originated. But to speak of the time that has elapsed 
since that parent body existed, would be but to use numbers 
so great as to be beyond all our powers of comprehension, and 
therefore a waste of time. We will therefore not speak of 
any time limit before which the parent body or bodies of 
this our universe must have existed; but will confine our¬ 
selves to the attempt at arriving at something like a definite 
age for its offspring,—for instance our own sun, a body 
which the Bible says God created on the fourth day 

“This central body of our system is a most wonderful 
orb. Helmholtz tells us that our forefathers were right in 
regarding the sun as the giver of all life, as the ultimate 
source of almost all that has happened on the earth. Says 
Tyndall: ‘He rears the whole vegetable world and through 
it the animal; the lilies of the field are his workmanship; 
the verdure of the meadows, and the cattle upon a thousand 
hills. He forms the muscles, he urges the blood, he builds 
the brain. His fleetness is the lion’s foot; he springs in the 
panther, he soars in the eagle, he glides in the snake. He 
builds the forest and hews it down, the power which raised 
the tree and wields the axe being one and the same. The 
sun digs the ore from our mine, he rolls the iron, he rivets 
the plates, he boils the water, he draws the train. He not 
not only grows the cotton, but he spins the fibres, and 


THE DOGMA OF CREATION. 


207 


weaves the web. There is not a hammer raised, a wheel 
turned,or a shuttle thrown,that is not raised and turned and 
thrown by the sun. ’ And our own popular scientific teacher, 
Edward E. Youmans, says. ‘In the fall of the avalanche, 
the roar of the cataract, and the flow of the river; in the 
crash of the thunder, the glare of the lightning, and the 
sweep of the tornado; in the blaze of conflagration and the 
shock of battle; in the beauty of flowers, of the rainbow, 
and the ever-shifting clouds; in days and seasons; in the 
silent growth of plants, and the elastic spring of animals; 
in the sail-impelled or steam-driven ship, and the flying 
train; in the heavy respiration of the laboring engine, and 
the rapid click of the telegraph;—in all the myriad manifes¬ 
tations of earthly power, we behold the transmuted strength 
of the all-energizing sun.’ 

“It is not at all doubted by astronomers that each and 
all of the countless members of our universe have had their 
origin from one common fiery mist or nebulous ball. This 
is called the nebular hypothesis. In its modern form the 
hypothesis is generally credited toHerschel; but since his 
days it has been variously modified by different astrono¬ 
mers, although its main principle has not in any respect 
been altered. 

“According to astronomer Norton the great disruption 
of the nebulous mass by which the primary systems of the 
heavens were generated, may have occurred in any one 
of four possible modes: 

“By a simultaneous disruption of the whole of the 
nebulous mass; 

“By a simultaneous disruption of the nebulous body 
along a limited number of meridians; 

“By an irregular disruption; 

“By a disruption beginning at the equator, and ex¬ 
tending gradually towards the poles, 


208 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUT. 


“Mr. Norton regards the last form of disruption as a 
deviation from the normal type, but at the same time as 
that by which the stellar systems were most likely origi¬ 
nated. The irresolvable nebulae he regards as vast nebu¬ 
lous masses that became detached from the polar regions, and 
from which ‘clusters have been derived that are now at an 
earlier stage of development, and at a greater distance than 
the telescopic stars • and clusters. ’ Annular nebulae he 
thinks may have resulted from the polar matter being most¬ 
ly drawn to surrounding points of condensation, or not 
having yet condensed into true stars, or into stars com¬ 
paratively minute. Planetary nebulae he refers to this 
same kind of development. 

“ ‘If we assume,’ says Mr. Norton, ‘all systems of stars 
to have been derived by separation from rotating nebulous 
bodies of vast extent according to one or the other of a 
certain small number of types of evolution, the forms and 
internal conditions that would be inevitably passed through, 
in the progress of ages, would be the counterpart of the 
various forms and apparent structural conditions of the 
clusters and nebulae actually observed. ’ 

“In speaking of the origin of the systems of the heav¬ 
ens, Young says that any one who considers the way in 
which other perfect works of Nature usually come to their 
perfection, must conclude that it is far more likely the sys¬ 
tems grew than that they were built This eminent author 
thinks it not probable that the original nebulous mass had 
nearly as high temperature as that of the sun at present. 
He regards it likely that the original nebula was in the 
form of dust rather than fire-mist, that it consisted of fine 
particles of solid or liquid matter, each particle enveloped 
in a mantle of permanent gas. Still he does not deny that 
Laplace may have been right in ascribing a very high 
temperature to the original nebula; he only insists that a 


THE DOGMA OF CREATION. 


209 


high temperature was not necessary for the evolution of 
such as our incandescent sun. 

“Laplace is supposed to have held that the bodies far¬ 
thest from the centre must have originated first; butLock- 
yer, Norton, and many others think it probable that many 
bodies may have originated contemporaneously, more than 
one having been liberated at the same time, or several 
bodies having been formed from different zones of the 
same ring. 

“In speaking of the subject of the origin of the celes¬ 
tial systems, Newcomb and Holden say: ‘The nebular 
hypothesis is a philosophical conclusion founded on the 
widest study of nature, and pointed to by many otherwise 
disconnected facts. We learn from it that the universe is 
not self-sustaining, but is a kind of organism which, like 
all other organisms, must come to an end. ’ 

“Loomis regards the nebular hypothesis as probably 
true; Olmstead and Snell think it more in accordance with 
the Creator’s plan that the systems grew than that they 
were created, and set in motion as we now see them. 

“I might continue indefinitely this list of authorities; 
but it were a useless labor, as it is impossible to name a 
single competent authority who does not hold that the 
celestial systems are all, as we have said, the results of 
evolution, or who does not deny that any of them was 
ever brought into existence by any such creative act as is 
plainly taught in the first chapter of Genesis. 

“Having shown that in the mind of the scientific world 
there is no doubt that all the stellar systems have had one 
common origin, and have acquired their present form and 
order under the operations of law working through vast 
ages of time, we may now seek some solid scientific grounds 
for estimating the age of our system. 

“Our sun is one of the vast number of stars which, as 

14 




210 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


we have stated, were thrown off, or in some manner or 
other derived, from one common universal nebula. How 
long this nebula existed before such segregation com¬ 
menced, it were vain to imagine; nor are we able to state 
whether our sun is the oldest or youngest star; whether the 
stars farthest from the centre of our universe were first 
formed, and those nearest the centre, last; or whether they 
came into existence by the formation of nuclei throughout 
the nebulous mass, as happens in the churning of butter. 
What we can definitely .state is that the parent of the stars, 
the nebulous mass, must have been in existence ages be¬ 
fore its offspring, the stars themselves; and that if we can 
show the stars, the mere offspring, existed untold ages be¬ 
fore the time at which the Bible says the world was created, 
we shall thereby know the account in Genesis must be still 
more incorrect, since it asserts that God created the uni¬ 
verse in six days; for the word universe, necessarily in¬ 
cludes the parent of the stars, the nebulous mass. 

“In arriving at an adequate conception of the age of the 
solar system, we shall base our investigations upon the 
conclusions already deduced,—namely, that all the various 
members of the solar system once existed in the form of a 
nebulous mass which had been previously thrown off, or 
in some manner or other derived, from that universal fiery 
mist or nebulous matter out of which the various stars or 
primary bodies were in like manner all formed. 

“Most people know that heat is a mode of motion. If 
you rub your hands together, you experience warmth; and 
by repeatedly hammering a small piece of iron, you can 
make it too hot to hold. As heat is only a mode of motion, 
heat and motion are interchangeable. A person uses a ton 
of coal in getting up steam, to raise to a certain height a 
certain amount of mineral. After it has been thus raised, 

' hould it be allowed freely to fall to the place from which 


the dogma of creation. 


21 i 


it had been taken, the heat generated by the fall, allowing 
for the loss by friction, would exactly equal the heat ex¬ 
pended in raising it. 

“Such men as Hirn, Joule, Maxwell, Tyndall, and 
others have conclusively shown that the amount of work 
done by an engine, is exactly equal to the quantity of heat 
lost. This fact is a well known principle of physics. 

“That the heat of the sun does not arise, as many sup¬ 
pose, from its combustion, is a statement easily capable 
of demonstration. ‘If the sun were solid carbon, and if a 
constant and adequate supply of oxygen were present, it 
has been shown that, at the present rate of radiation, the 
heat arising from the combustion of the mass would not 
last more than 5000 years.’ (New r comb and Holden.) 

“Few persons have anything like an adequate concep¬ 
tion of the amount of heat radiated by the sun into space. 
By experiment it has been found that 83.4 foqt-pounds of 
heat per second fall upon every square foot of the earth’s 
surface exposed to the perpendicular rays of the sun; and 
since the surfaces of spheres are to one another as the 
squares of their radii, we know the amount of heat radiat¬ 
ed from the sun’s surface is to that received by the earth, 
as the square of the sun’s distance from us is to the square 
of his radius, or as 46000 to 1. This gives us 3,869,000 
foot-pounds of heat radiated from the sun’s surface every 
second,—an amount equal to 7000 horse-power. 

“Sir John Herschel’s actinometer and Pouillet’s 
pyrheliometer are said by Deschanel to have given the best 
results in determining the amount of heat radiated by the 
sun. Pouillet finds the heat sent yearly by the sun to 
the earth to be sufficient to melt a layer of ice 30 metres 
thick all over the earth. Sir John Herschel’s estimate is 
about the same. 

“Since the sun’s radiation is about 2100 million times 


2*2 POO'irkiNTs op a sotti 

the amount received by the earth, it is said by Deschanel 
that his total radiation is sufficient to melt a thickness of 
two-fifths of a mile of ice per hour over his whole surface. 

“Such an enormous supply of heat could not be main¬ 
tained, for any length of time, by combustion. ‘It would 
require the combustion of about 1500 lbs. of coal per hour, 
on every square foot of the sun’s surface. The opinion 
that the sun’s heat is maintained by combustion, can not be 
entertained for a single moment. A pound of coal falling 
into the sun from an infinite distance, would produce by 
its concussion more than 6000 times the amount of heat 
that would be generated by its combustion.’ (Croll: Clim¬ 
ate and Time). Should a pound of matter fall into the 
sun from an infinite distance, its energy would be 65,000,- 
000,000 foot-pounds,—sufficient to raise 1000 tons five and 
half miles high. 

“Helmholtz says that if the sun were of uniform density 
throughout, ‘the heat developed by a contraction amount¬ 
ing to only one ten-thousandth of the solar diameter, 
would be as much as is emitted by the sun in 21000 years.’ 
(Deschanel). It is largely through the investigations 
made by this most eminent scientist, that an explanation 
of the sun’s heat, in every way satisfactory to the scientific 
world, has been found. This explanation is known as the 
cantraction theory; and it is adopted by the leading philoso¬ 
phers of all nations. It is,moreover, the simplest and most 
reasonable, since its main principle necessarily results 
from the law of gravitation. 

“Having .shown that the celestial bodies were never 
created, in the usual acceptation of the term, but grew in¬ 
to their present form and condition under natural laws, 
operating through vast ages; that the sun’s first existence 
was not, as the Bible says, subsequent to that of the earth, 
but vast ages before it; that the sun’s radiation is not by 


fnn DOGMA OP CRKATION, 


213 


combustion, nor from the mere giving out of his own 
natural heat, but from the contraction of his own sub¬ 
stance under the laws of gravity,—we may next ask, how 
long has this contraction been in progress. 

“First, we should’say that a body such as the centre of 
our system was and perhaps is, might go on for vast ages 
radiating its heat, and contracting, not only without a fall, 
but actually with a rise, in temperature. The fact on 
which this assertion is based, is said to have been discover¬ 
ed by Mr. Fane, of Washington. It would seein strange, 
but it is admittedly no less true, that a gaseous body los¬ 
ing heat by radiation, and contracting under gravity, 
must, instead of falling in temperature, actually grow hotter 
and hotter, until it ceases to be a perfect gas. The energy 
acquired by the contraction, is more than that lost by 
radiation. In the case of a solid or liquid this is not so. 
Contraction may supply heat for radiation; but it can not 
raise the temperature of the contracting solid or liquid body, 
nor keep it from gradually falling. Little by little the 
temperature of such a body must be reduced to that of 
surrounding space. 

“The condition of our sun to-day is known to be one that 
is neither a true gas, nor a liquid, nor a solid. In parts 
it is a true gas, as is proved by the spectroscope; in other 
parts, as in the photospheric clouds, there is much liquid; 
while in yet other parts, it is possibly solid. The present 
relative proportions of true gases and liquids in our sun 
are such as to keep his temperature about stationary. 
(Young.) These proportions can not, of course, last in¬ 
definitely long. The increase of the liquid part must, at a 
comparatively early date, destroy the present stability; 
then the temperature will surely begin to fall. This fall 
may have already begun. 

“According to the theory of contraction now about 


214 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUT. 


universally accepted, a shortening of the sun’s radius of 
only about 125 feet a year, will suffice for the whole an¬ 
nual radiation. Such a small amount of contraction could 
not be noticed by us with any known instruments. In¬ 
deed, it would take 9000 times the amount of such annual 
contraction to enable us to verify by observations the fact 
of the sun’s shrinkage. Should the annual contraction of 
the sun’s radius be greater than 125 feet, his mean tem¬ 
perature must be rising; but if there, be ^uch rise, it can 
continue, comparatively speaking, for only a very short 
time. 

“The present temperature of the sun is very high; but 
nothing like definite information can be had on this point. 
Secchi thinks the the temperature of the solar surface is 
about 6,100,000 degrees C.; Rosetti gives what is known 
as the effective temperature of the sun, at from 10,000 to 
18,000 degrees C.; and Siemens sets it down at 3000 degrees 
C. Where such wide divergencies of opinions exist, we 
must admit that our information concerning the sun’s tem¬ 
perature is very limited. We may say, however, that if 
the sun were as near to the earth as the moon is, our earth 
would melt and vaporize. The most powerful burning- 
lenses conclusively show this. For a body placed at 
the focus of one of the.se, is virtually within 240,000 miles 
of the sun’s surface; and it is known that at such a focus 
all substances known to us are melted and vaporized. 

“In answering the question, how long has the sun been 
in existence, Newcomb says: Tf we take the doctrine of 
the sun’s contraction as furnishing the complete explanation 
of the solar heat during the whole period of the sun’s ex¬ 
istence, we can readily compute the total amount of heat 
which can be generated by his contraction from any as¬ 
signed volume. This amount has a limit, however great 
we may suppose the sun to have been in the begin- 


THE DOGMA OF CREATION. 


215 


ning: a body falling from an infinite distance would gen¬ 
erate only a limited quantity of heat, just as it would ac¬ 
quire a limited velocity. It is thus found that if the sun 
had, in the beginning, filled all space, the amount of heat 
generated by his contraction to his present volume would 
have been sufficient to last 18,000,000 years at his present 
rate of radiation. The heat evolved by contraction from 
an infinite size, or by the falling of all the parts of the sun 
from an infinite distance, shows the extreme limit of the 
heat the sun could acquire from internal change, and this 
quantity, as just stated, would last only 18,000,000 years. 

“Speaking on this same subject, Young tells us: ‘No 
conclusion of geometry is more certain than this,—that the 
contraction of the sun to its present size, from a diameter 
even many times greater than Neptune’s orbit, would have 
furnished about 18,000,000 times as much heat as the sun 
now supplies in a year, and therefore that the sun can not 
have been emitting heat at the present rate for more than 
18,000,000 years, if its heat has really been generated in 
this manner; but it is not unlikely that the sun may have 
received energy from other sources than its own contrac¬ 
tion. Altogether it would seem that we must consider the 
18,000,000 years to be the least possible value of a dura¬ 
tion which may have been many times more extended. 
If the nebular hypothesis and the theory of the solar con¬ 
traction be true, the sun must be as old as that,—how 
much older no one can tell. ’ 

“In our estimation of the sun’s age, based on the con¬ 
traction theory, no allowance has been made for any origi¬ 
nal heat; but the computed age is simply the time required 
for the dissipation of the heat that would be acquired by the 
solar contraction, or the contraction of the nebulous mass, 
on the supposition that the nebulous matter itself pos¬ 
sessed no original heat. 


316 


FOOTPRINTS OF A mvu 


“Now apart from the demands of geology, it is in every 
way reasonable to hold that the original nebulous matter 
had a very high temperature. Where did this nebulous 
matter come from? It could not have been always existent; 
for on such supposition, contraction could not have had a 
beginning. The very supposition of contraction is founded 
on the fact of physical change in the nebula. The tendency 
to contract is a necessary result of gravitation. If the nebu¬ 
la had always been, contraction would have always been; 
but this latter is a supposition contrary to the theory itself. 
The nebula, therefore, must have had a beginning; and it 
is certain enough that this beginning was in a cause or 
causes exactly opposite to those which are now hastening 
a general equilibrium of temperature throughout the .solar 
.system. The original nebula, in other words, must have 
resulted from the collision of two large globes, or an indefi¬ 
nite number of small ones. This would give the nebula out 
of which the solar system has been formed, an original 
temperature, and force us to add to the past life of the sun 
very many millions of years. 

‘ ‘That the original nebula had a very high temperature, 
all astronomers regard as very possible; and geologists as¬ 
sert that it is absolutely certain, since nature itself testifies 
to the truth of the fact in the strata of the earth. 

“An original nebula with a very high temperature is 
easily accounted for on the supposition of collision. If two 
globes each one-half of the sun’s dimensions should collide, 
each moving with a velocity of 563 miles per second, they 
would generate in a single moment no less than 70,000,000 
times as much heat as is now annually radiated by the sun. 
(Croll: Climate and Time). This would give us in all for 
the past life of the sun about 90,000,000 years. 

“Prof. Helmholtz holds that the earth, a child of the 
sun, must have been 350,000,000 years in passing from a 


mn DOOMA Of CR8ATIQ5f, 


21 i 

temperature of 2,000 degrees C.to 200 degrees C.; and Dana 
says that at the end of the archaean age, the temperature 
of the earth was not probably over 38 degrees C.; and gives 
us 50,000,000 years as about the time since the commence¬ 
ment of the Silurian age, Of the time that had elapsed be¬ 
fore the Silurian age, this author says it was ‘very long.’ 
Le Conte says the Azoic age was longer than all the re¬ 
maining history of the earth, and calls it ‘an infinite abyss 
of past time.’ (Geology, 378). Winchell tells us that the 
time required for the changes we find in the earth, must 
have been vast; and the noted physicist, Sir William 
Thompson, on grounds other than geologicol, estimates the 
age of the earth’s crust at 100,000,000 years; and the earth, 
as before stated, is a mere offspring of the sun. 

“The early earth was not unlike our present sun. It 
was at first nebulous, and after many millions of years be¬ 
came a globe of molten rock. While it was in a gaseous 
state, the result of contraction, as we have said, would be 
a rise in temperature; but as soon as it became largely liquid 
and solid, the loss by radiation would more than equal the 
heat evolved by contraction. Its temperature would there¬ 
fore begin to fall; and this decrease will never cease. 
Farther and farther from the surface will the earth’s mol¬ 
ten state recede, until the earth shall have lost all her in¬ 
ternal fires. This decrease of the earth’s natural heat would 
be much more rapid, were it not for the thick crust super¬ 
imposed on the molten matter, which protects the earth as 
the polar bear’s coat preserves the animal’s heat. Humboldt 
and Elie de Beaumont give 21 miles as the thickness of the 
earth’s crust; Bischot, 24; Osmand Fisher, 25 to 30; and 
Newcomb says: ‘The whole earth is red-hot at a distance 
of from ten to fifteen miles below its surface. We have 
every reason to believe that the increase of 100 degrees a 
mile continues many miles into the interior of the earth. 


2 l8 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


The earth is really a sphere of molten matter surrounded 
by a comparatively thin solid crust on which we live. ’ In¬ 
deed, it seems the ancients must have been fully acquainted 
with the internal heat of the earth. Tertullian, one of the 
great fathers of the church, says: ‘By ourselves the lower 
regions of hell are believed to be a vast cavern in the in¬ 
terior of the earth.’ This good father determined, you see, 
to locate the orthodox hell in a place hot enough. 

“Sir William Thompson estimates the yearly loss of 
heat by the earth,as sufficient to melt 777 cubic miles of ice. 

‘ ‘It is quite generally held that the earth was hundreds 
of millions of years old before it was cold enough for the 
abode of life, such as we now know. We have already 
given Helmholtz’ estimate, 350,000,000 years, as the time 
the earth required to pass from a temperature of 2,000 to 
200 degrees C.; and Dana holds that the earth was many 
millions of years after this,before it became the abode of life. 

“It is universally held that the Azoic age of the earth 
was of greater duration than all her subsequent ages; yet 
we know little or nothing of the life of the Azoic age. 
Some of the lowest orders of life were undoubtedly repre¬ 
sented at the close of this age; but the true life-history of 
our globe is generally held to have commenced at the be¬ 
ginning of the Paleozoic times, which age Dana estimates 
as having lasted 36,000,000 years. Then came the Meso¬ 
zoic and Cenozoic ages, for the duration of which Dana 
gives us 9,000,000 and 3,000,000 years respectively. 

“We have coral reefs more than 2,000 feet thick, for 
the building of which geologists insist not less than 384, 
000 years were required. 

“Since the days of Sir Charles Lyell, to whom the sci¬ 
ence owes its thanks for its establishment upon its present 
sound and philosophical basis, geology has been making 
rapid strides. Its voice to-day is attentively listened to in 


THE DOGMA OF CREATION. 


219 


the councils of the wise, and its conclusions are received 
with the approval of the scientific world. 

“Geologists may demand more millions of years than 
physicists are willing to give them, and physicists may dif¬ 
fer among themselves many millions of years; but where 
the birth of the universe is acknowledged by all to have 
been an event which must have occurred at such a remote 
period in the eternity of the past, a few millions of years 
are of little importance in the consideration of our question. 

“Abundant remains of man are found in the Quater¬ 
nary age; and it is held by very many that he first appeared 
in the Tertiary. ‘Fossil remains of men have hitherto been 
found in late Tertiary deposits.’ (Huxley). ‘That man,’ 
says Winchell, ‘existed in remote preglacial times, is not 
improbable;’ and computing it on astronomical grounds, 
Croll and Wallace say that the glacial epoch began 240, 
000 years ago, and lasted 160,000 years. This conclusion 
is accepted by Geike and many other English geologists. 
The astronomical consideration of the age is based on the 
precession of the equinoxes and secular changes in the ec¬ 
centricity of the earth’s orbit. 

“It would seem, therefore, that 240,000 years is the 
least time we can consider man as having been an inhabi¬ 
tant of the earth; and we are sure that the leading ethnol¬ 
ogists and anthropologists of the world, would not much 
demur to this statement. Says Huxley, than whom none is 
better qualified to speak,: ‘There can be no doubt that the 
existing fauna and flora is but the last term of a long 
series of equally numerous contemporary species, which 
have succeeded one another, by the slow and gradual sub¬ 
stitution of species for species, in the vast interval of time 
which has elapsed between the deposition of the earliest 
fossiliferous strata and the present day.* 

“We have given sufficient proof that the Biblical words 


220 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


at the head of our lecture, do not convey the truth; that 
God neither created the universe in six days, nor any mem¬ 
ber thereof; nor even the earth, one of the least of the mem¬ 
bers of the solar system, nor any of its fauna or flora; that 
creation has been a gradual process from the least to the 
most differentiated,—from the nebulous ball down to the 
fiery earth, from the lowest living organism to the highest 
human genius. 

“We should learn from the evident inaccuracy of these 
biblical words, to regard the so-called revelation of God in 
the past, as subordinate to that ever-present and increasing 
manifestation of the Divine Being, witnessed in the myriad 
investigations carried forward by the inquiring mind of 
man, who in himself, though but an erring child, is the 
highest revelation of the Infinite Father. ’ ’ 


CHAPTER XXII. 

THOUGHTS OF AN HONEST- PRIEST. 

He would not flatter Neptune for his trident, 

Or Jove for his power to thunder. His heart’s his mouth: 

What his breast forges, that his tongue must vent. 

{Shahsfere) 

^^FTER having delivered, one Sunday morning, a ser_ 
inon on the Person of Christ, Merton was visited by his 
senior warden, who soon began the following conversation: 

“Mr. Merton, I notice that in your sermons you fre¬ 
quently use such expressions as, If Christ be God; If 
eternal punishment be true; If Christ w T as immaculately 
born; If we live after death; etc. I supposed these matters 
were not open to question; therefore I can not see that you 
have any right to the use of ‘ifs\ Have you really any 
doubt about these things? Do you really doubt the dogmas 
of the church?” 

“Though I can not say, Mr.How r ard, that I really disbe¬ 
lieve any of the great dogmas of the church, I nevertheless 
candidly admit that I have my doubts and fears. If you 
ask me, for instance, ‘Do you believe in the divinity of Jesus 
Christ?’ I would answer,‘yes’; but should you ask, ‘Doyou 
believe without a doubt that Jesus Christ is God?’I could not 
truthfully answer affirmatively. One may say, as thousands 
do, that he believes in the divinity of Jesus Christ, and yet not 
believe that he is the infinite Deity, the life, fullness, and po¬ 
tency of the whole universe. So also may one say, ‘I believe,’ 
his heart at the same time being torn with a tempest of doubt 
and fear. If ministers were asked, ‘Do you believe in the di¬ 
vinity of Jesus Christ?’ ; for the most part, and for many 

221 


222 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUT. 


reasons, they would answer, ‘ yes ; ’ but if they were asked 
the far more searching question, ‘ Is there no doubt at all 
in your heart that Jesus Christ is God Almighty ? ’ I know 
from my relations with them for the last fifteen years that 
they could not truthfully answer the question affirmatively. 
I have been acquainted with many ministers, I have talked 
seriously with many ; but never with one who, when closely 
questioned in confidence, would not admit the existence of 
the uncertainty which dwells, to a greater or less extent, 
according to the degree of education, in the breast, as I 
believe, of all I have ever known. This could not be other¬ 
wise ; for who of all the learned critics, philosophers, scien¬ 
tists and historians, having examined the evidence contained 
in Scripture and elsewhere, upon which are founded the 
dogmas of orthodoxy, is satisfied, beyond doubt, of the truth 
of these dogmas ? I answer, not one. This also could not 
be otherwise ; for in the words of a contemporary writer : 
‘ There is hardly one fact known to be the undoubted result 
of modern science, which does not shatter to pieces the 
whole fabric of orthodoxy.’ Among those who have made 
a thorough investigation of this subject, the opinion of Mill 
may in general be said to be held in common : ‘ In the 

Christianity of the Gospels, at least in its ordinary interpre¬ 
tation, there are moral difficulties and perversions of so fla¬ 
grant a character as almost to outweigh all the beauty and 
benignity and moral greatness which so eminently distin¬ 
guish the sayings and character of Christ. . . . The di¬ 

vine message, assuming it to be such, has been authenticated 
by credentials so insufficient that they fail to convince a 
large proportion of the strongest and most cultivated minds; 
and the tendency to disbelieve them appears to grow with 
the growth of scientific knowledge and critical discrimina¬ 
tion.’ (Utility of Religion.) 

“ Ministers are men, and some of them are educated. Of 


THOUGHTS OF AN HONEST PRIEST. 223 

the educated portion all have their doubts and fears in com¬ 
mon with the rest of mankind. But why, it may be asked, 
do they then not acknowledge these doubts more plainly 
than they do? Such a question may readily be answered: 
Why does not the lawyer expose to judge and jury the 
weakness of his case? Why does not the physician ac¬ 
knowledge his ignorance of the disease which, like a hawk, 
eats the life of his patient away? He who can answer these 
questions, and every sensible person can, is equally prepar¬ 
ed, if he only will, to give a satisfactory reason why the 
minister exposes not the weakness of his creed; and he who 
can not give such a satisfactory reason, would likely re¬ 
ceive no help from me, however fully I might explain it; 
for being credulous and superstitious, it is very improbable 
that he would be capable of appreciating such an expla¬ 
nation, or that his opinion would be changed by argument. 

“For my part, I have never sought to hide the doubts and 
fears which more and more have found a lodging-place in my 
heart. I can not deceive you; nor will I contend for what I 
believe is contrary to fact or reason. This I can not do. 

“ ‘Fingunt simul creduntque,’ is an old proverb, and 
means that when one makes an hypothesis in explanation of 
any phenomena, he will at once contend for its truth. An ig¬ 
norant preacher declaring vehemently the thoughts of his 
heart, is wont to say he speaks by the inspiration of the 
Holy Ghost. If a man contends wilfully for the truth of 
error, he paralyzes his mind, and renders himself incapable 
of searching for further truth; even if he only unintentional¬ 
ly does this, he is liable to be confirmed in the belief of his 
error. These results are seen with fearful effects in religion. 
We find Augustine, for instance, a rational-minded Chris¬ 
tian, before his contention with Pelagius; but after this he 
becomes as much of an extremist on the one side, as Pe¬ 
lagius was on the other. Indeed I can not think that the 


224 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUF. 


teachings of the latter are near as baneful as those of the 
former. Augustine lays down premises, and through his 
blinding passion to conquer, strives, according to the pro¬ 
verb, to make himself and others believe that his conclu¬ 
sions are true. Adam, he tells us, was created with a nature 
‘posse non peccare et non mori/ that is, with such a na¬ 
ture that he might have lived free from sin and free from 
death; but having transgressed, Adam, he says, became 
‘ non posse non peccare et non mori/ that is, became such 
that he could not live without sin nor without death. Now, 
since man is declared in Scripture incapable of self-redemp¬ 
tion, Augustine holds that it is evident that as many as are 
saved, are saved by grace; and since all are not saved, al¬ 
though they would be, that it is not because of their lack of 
desire, but because of the eternal and unconditional decree 
of God. Thus we find Augustine denying the freedom of 
the mind, offering us an absurd gospel, and presenting us 
with a god the most unjust and base. All this he does in 
contention for what he has assumed. This is the predesti¬ 
nation theory which 'has its advocates in the Christian 
church of to-day, and which, if true, would induce me to 
be very charitable of the devil’s sin, and conclude God not 
only the author and builder of hell, but also of all the sin in 
the universe. Such false doctrine kills the soul of the 
teacher, and certainly unfits it for noble living or noble dy¬ 
ing, by philosophically destroying the highest incentives to 
virtue, and reducing man to a mere tool. 

“ Belief saves nobody; the truth only saves. If we would 
be saved, we must know the truth, for truth only has the 
power of giving life. But if a man would preach the truth 
and the truth only, he must dig carefully and deep, as if for 
hidden treasures. To do this there is need of a mind well 
furnished not only with theological knowledge, but also 
with that of science in general; for every science is subsid- 


THOUGHTS OF AN HONEST PRIEST. 225 

iary to theological knowledge. The minister, therefore, 
should be a man of the broadest culture, tenacious of the 
truth, and fearful of nothing but error. He should be sat¬ 
isfied with the substance only, and not with the shadow; 
with the reality, and not with the appearance. 

“It must be admitted that such teaching as you receive 
from me, must make men think for themselves, and, there¬ 
fore, cast off to a great extent the shackles of dogmas and 
superstition. It enforces the fact that it is not belief nor a 
name which saves the soul, but truth and truth only; and 
since man can be saved by truth only, such teaching leads 
him to inquire carefully into the character of his religious 
belief. The natural result of such teaching is to make men 
rationalistic, and therefore ready to discover any error in 
their religious belief. Such men soon find that there is 
much of Christian dogma which can not stand the in¬ 
vestigation of a critical mind. 

“I am glad indeed, in a certain sense, that you are so 
well satisfied; but I am equally glad 'that the declaration 
of the church, being such an interested party, is not suf¬ 
ficient to prevent my mind from thinking, or force on me 
the belief that there is no longer any room for further 
inquiry. Concerning the deity of Christ, it is not sufficient 
that the apostles asserted it, or that even Christ himself de¬ 
clared it. Have I not the right to demand proof as to the 
ability of the apostles, to determine the grave questions at 
issue ? Have I not the right to demand the production of 
the evidence upon which they base their judgment ? May 
I not demand that the evidence produced shall be such as 
would force from me to-day the acknowledgment of the 
deity of a person who, living amongst us, might be said to 
perform similar miracles?” 

The gentleman answered, “I suppose such demands 
would be just and fair.” 


226 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUP. 


“ Not only, my friend, would they be, as you say, just 
and fair ; but it would be my duty to make such demands. 
If we examine, in a critical spirit, the statements made in 
the Gospels, the halo of glory which is now superstitiously 
shed about them, soon disappears. In the first place, there 
are the authors of the synoptic gospels, Matthew, Mark and 
Luke. To the author or words of the fourth gospel, it is 
useless to refer, since both the author and his words are 
subjects of too much uncertainty and speculation. What 
shall we say of the three who remain to testify to the life 
and words of Christ ? I answer, we can say nothing; for of 
their persons and lives we have no really satisfactory and 
authentic information. From tradition and the little we find 
in the New Testament itself concerning them, it is generally 
inferred that they were ignorant men, and, therefore, we 
say, totally unfit to discriminate between the miraculous and 
the natural. When I ask for proof of it, I can not find that 
the apostles had sufficient ability to determine the questions 
at issue. Indeed, in the early ages it was a much disputed 
question, whether the apostles could even write ; and to-day 
the question is far from settled. In the second place, if I 
ask for the production of the evidence upon which the 
apostles base their opinions, what do we find ? Why, I am 
presented with a few documents disagreeing in many ma¬ 
terial points, and whose authors are either wholly unknown, 
or subjects of contradictory judgments. Let us examine 
more closely. Even if we admit that the author of our 
present Gospel of St. Matthew, was the same person as the 
Matthew who is said to have been the apostle of Christ, still 
it does not help us much ; for Papias distinctly says that 
this Matthew ‘ put together the oracles of the Lord in the 
Hebrew language, and each one interpreted it as best he 
could.’ Of this original work of St. Matthew we know ab¬ 
solutely nothing ; and it does not increase our confidence in 


THOUGHTS OF AN HONEST PRIEST. 


227 


the copy we possess, to be told bv Papias that each one 
translated the original as best he could. The greatest writers 
of the world acknowledge that our Matthew is not the orig¬ 
inal Matthew. If, then, I demand the genuine work of St. 
Matthew, I am offered instead, according to some, only a 
translation whose accuracy I must question, because of the 
suspicion cast, by the words of Papias, upon the author’s 
ability ; and, according to others, only a compilation made 
from other writings, the chief of which was probably the 
original Gospel of St. Mark. Stating it more briefly : of the 
writer of the original St. Matthew we have no definite and 
satisfactory information ; we do not possess the original, nor 
know of any one that ever did ; the Gospel of St. Matthew 
which we possess, is not the original St. Matthew, but at 
best only a translation made by some unknown person whose 
ability to perform such labor must be questioned, since he 
did it only ‘as best he could’ ; or, lastly and probably, it 
may be the compilation of an unknown author, based chiefly 
upon the original Gospel of St. Mark. I ask any candid and 
unprejudiced mind, is there no room for doubt about the 
statements made in such a gospel. Such a question admits of 
but one answer. When we come to the Gospel of St. Mark, 
we find no better satisfaction. Of the person and life of St. 
Mark we know nothing, or worse than nothing, except the 
little we gather from the New Testament; on the latter we 
can place, in our judgment, but little reliance, as well be¬ 
cause it is a witness testifying in its own behalf, as of the 
unsatisfactory character of what is there said. If I ask, 
therefore, for proof of the ability of St. Mark to determine 
the questions at issue, it is impossible for me to get it. It is 
generally conceded by the most impartial and prominent 
critics, that our Gospel of St. Mark is not the original Gospel 
of St. Mark ; but, first, an emended copy made either by an 
unknown person or the author of the original; or, secondly, 


228 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUt. 


that it is the result of not less than two, and probably many, 
revisions, the first of which may, or may not, have been 
made by the original author, and the second, or subsequent 
ones, by some person or persons unknown, who, at the time 
of their revision, made many additions to the original work. 
And, now, if we ask did St. Mark witness the occurrences he 
describes, we have to answer, he did not ; for we are told by 
Papias, who of all was most likely to know, that St. Mark 
never saw the Lord, nor heard him speak ; but that, becom¬ 
ing a disciple and interpreter of St. Peter, he wrote his 
gospel from what he remembered of St. Peter’s teaching : 

'Ours yap rjxouffs too xuptou outs ■JzaprjzoXoudrjGs auTip. Mapxos 
psv ip/xrjvsuTrjS UsTpuu ysvopsvos 6<ra spvrpxovsuas azptftios sypaipsv. 

“ In St Mark, therefore, we have no eye-witness to the 
occurrences he relates. The original gospel of St. Mark 
was simply a memorabilia of the teachings of St. Peter, 
penned by Mark, his disciple and interpreter, after St. 
Peter’s death. If then I demand written proof of the 
occurrences which St. Mark relates, i am offered at best the 
written testimony of one who never witnessed the occur¬ 
rences he describes; while in all probability I am offered 
not even this much, but, according to some, a document 
supposed to be an emended copy made by the original au¬ 
thor; or, according to others, a document which has passed 
through several revisions, and received many alterations. I 
ask, can any candid and unprejudiced mind receive without 
question the statements made in such documents ? Is there 
no room for doubt about the assertions made in such a gos¬ 
pel ? Such a question admits of but one answer—and that 
answer I would give, though all the earth should give a con¬ 
trary one—truth and reason demand it. 

“And now we come to the consideration of the last of 
the synoptic gospels, the Gospel according to St. Luke. 
The author of this gospel is supposed to have been a com- 


thoughts of an honfst PRIUST. 229 

panion of St. Paul. By some he is said to have been a phy¬ 
sician, by some a painter, by others both. He was probably 
a native of Antioch and a Gentile Christian. But what we 
know of St. Luke, may be sufficiently inferred from the 
words of Prof. Reuss : ‘ Such a work was undertaken by a 

man who was strongly drawn to it by his interest in the mat¬ 
ter, and who, by his connection with the apostles, or at least 
their immediate pupils, was probably placed in a condition to 
accomplish his task as well as it could be done in his time. 
This was the unknown author of our Third Gospel.’ Here 
we find St. Luke called by .this learned critic the ‘unknown 
author ’ ; and this title, as far as we know, justly describes 
him. So then, if I ask for definite and satisfactory proof 
that St. Luke had the ability to determine the questions at 
issue, I am unable to get it; yet he was probably the most 
scholarly of all the apostles. 

“ Further, it is admitted by all that St. Luke was not an 
apostle, that he was not an eye-witness to the occurrences 
he relates; and it is quite generally admitted that his gospel 
is a critical work based upon various written documents, the 
chief of which was probably the original Gospel of St. 
Mark. I ask any candid and unprejudiced mind, is there 
no room for doubt about the statements made in such a 
gospel ? Such a question admits of but one answer. There 
is one thing, however, that can not be answered without 
casting obloquy on the ministerial profession, — that is, why 
can ministers who profess to lead the world into truth, dare 
refer to these documents as infallible and inspired writings ? 
In conclusion, let me ask you to read this from the great 
and truth-loving Mill, which I think a lucid and just state¬ 
ment of the whole subject; and, while you read, think: 

“ ‘ To all these considerations ought to be added the 
extremely imperfect nature of the testimony itself. Take 
it at best, it is the uncross-examined testimony of ex- 


230 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


tremely ignorant people ; credulous as such usually are ; 
unaccustomed to draw the line between the perceptions of 
sense, and what is superinduced upon them by the sugges¬ 
tions of a lively imagination; unversed in the difficult art of 
deciding between appearances and reality, and between the 
natural and the supernatural ; in times, moreover, when no 
one thought it worth while to contradict any alleged miracle 
because it was the belief of the age that miracles in them¬ 
selves proved nothing, since they could be worked by a 
lying spirit as well as by the spirit of God. Such were the 
witnesses; and even of them we do not possess the direct tes¬ 
timony; the documents, of date long subsequent, even on the 
orthodox theory, which contains the only history of these 
events, very often do not even name the supposed eye-wit¬ 
nesses. . . (The evidence is) not of a character to warrant 
belief in any facts in the smallest degree unusual or improb¬ 
able ; the eye-witnesses in most cases unknown, in none 
competent by character or education to scrutinize the real 
nature of the appearances which they may have seen, and 
moved moreover by a union of the strongest motives which 
can inspire human beings to persuade, first themselves, and 
then others, that what they had seen was a miracle. The 
facts, too, even if faithfully reported, are never incompatible 
with the supposition that they were either mere coincidences, 
or were produced by natural means ; even when no specific 
conjecture can be made as to those means, which in general 
it can. . . I can not attach any evidentiary value to the 

testimony even of Christ on such a subject, since he is 
never said to have declared any evidence of his mission, 
except internal conviction ; and everybody knows that in 
prescientific times men always supposed that any unusual 
faculties which came to them they knew not how, were an 
inspiration from God ; the best men always being the read¬ 
iest to ascribe any honorable peculiarity in themselves to 


THOUGHTS OF AN HONEST PRIEST. 231 

that higher source, rather than to their own merits.’ (Es¬ 
says on Religion.) 

“Conscious of the uncertainty in meaning of so many 
passages of Scripture, recognizing the great disagree¬ 
ment among the most eminent scholars as to the divine 
origin of the book we call the Bible, and knowing the 
truth of Goethe’s words: 

‘Der Goetter Worte sind nicht doppelsinnig— 

The words of the gods are not ambiguous.’ 

(////. auf Tauris ), 

don’t you thing I have good grounds for the use of ‘ifs’ in 
my sermons?’’ 

“Well, I should say you had. But it is a great surprise 
to me. If the people were to know the truth about things, 
the churches would soon be emptier than they now are; 
but I am sure it is better to know the truth than to found 
one’s hopes upon matters that can not stand investigation. ’ ’ 

Thus saying the gentleman departed, and Merton was 
alone with his thoughts. Silently as his heart was beat¬ 
ing, his soul was in a tempest; and he was powerless to say, 
“peace, be still”. He was afraid he had done his friend 
more evil than good by disturbing his sense of security, 
however much deceived his friend may have been; yet he 
could not be false to his own convictions of duty, nor give 
false ideas concerning his own belief. 

Merton’s faith in the Scriptures as a sacred revelation 
from God, was fast leaving him. He had read the Old 
Testament through nearly three times, in the original lan¬ 
guage; and the more perfectly he became acquainted with 
it, the less he thought of it. He could not be blind to the 
immorality contained in its pages, to its many contra¬ 
dictions, to the wicked and most infamous conduct of not 
a few of those who are said to have been men after God’s 
own heart, to the fact that it ascribes to God motives such 


232 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


as no good man could have, and actions such as no good 
man would or could be guilty of doing, nor to its childish 
and false notions concerning the origin and working of the 
great cosmos of God. 

The New Testament is, of course, a higher develop¬ 
ment. It is the fruit of many trees, only one of which, 
the Old Testament, is Jewish. The Grecian and Eastern 
philosophies and religions are manifest factors of the New 
Testament. Taking the Bible as a whole, it seemed to 
Merton that it could not possibly be the work of men 
whose minds and pens were guided by God. If so, then 
we must not only be made after God’s own image, but God 
must be in our image: mutable, irritable, malevolent, en¬ 
vious, jealous, given to having favorites, imperfect in wis¬ 
dom, subject to improvement and repentance,—in short, 
the God of the Bible is but an enlarged man. Harnack 
says Augustine was the first great theologian to anthro¬ 
pomorphize God, or give Him a personality similar to our 
own. He may have been the first eminent theologian to 
do this; but all theologians whether before or after Augus¬ 
tine, and all biblical writers, have been guilty of the same 
dangerous error. Knowing these things, Merton could 
not believe in literal inspiration; yet he could see no reason 
for doubting, that not a little of the Bible is true for all 
people and time, and therefore to be believed. This is the 
truth he sought to find; and having found it, to set it forth 
in all his preaching, earnestly and without fear. But in 
thus subjecting every doctrine to the discrimination of the 
reason, Merton could not save himself from violating the 
received dogmas of the church, nor from falling under the 
ban of the ecclesiastical authorities. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

DIVINE CONCEPTIONS. 

Aa.o 8 ap.elri pkv irapeX^aro prjTlera Zevs, 

7 ) 5 ’ Ire*’ avrldeov 'Lapirr) 8 bva — 

The all-wise god Zeus embraced Laodamia, and she con¬ 
ceived, and brought forth the divine Sarpedon. 

(Homer: Iliad, vi, ig8.) 

I^e dieu Bel lui-meme m'a cree,le diett Marduk qui in'a engendre, a 
depose lui-meme le gertnc de ma vie dans le sein de ma mere — 

The god Bel himself created me; the god Marduk who begot 
me, deposited the germ of my life in the bosom of my mother. 

(Babylonian Inscription ) 

Hon. Mr. Gray was very ill, and not expected to 
recover. He was a member of Congress, a man of some 
means, and was much respected by those acquainted with 
him. He was a Scotchman, and possessed that candor and 
open-heartedness characteristic of his race. His wife was a 
communicant of Merton’s parish; and she wished Merton to 
visit her husband as frequently as possible. Mr. Gray him¬ 
self, however, was not a member of the church; and did not 
believe even in the immortality of the soul. 

It was a beautiful day. Merton had knelt at the bedside 
of the sick man, in earnest prayer; and was then sitting on 
a chair, engaged in conversation with Mr. Gray. 

“Merton,” said the sick man, “I want to tell you, that 
Em.,my wife, thinks the world of you, and that I like you 
very much. I like your sincerity, admire your scholarship, 
and greatly esteem your candor. Now, you must not feel 
offended at what I am about to say. I like you to visit me; 
but I want to ask you not to offer prayer when you make 
your visits—I do not believe in prayer; nor do I believe 
that after death a man continues to be. I know you are ex¬ 
tremely liberal; but you have not arrived at my .stand¬ 
point. Visit me whenever you are able; but visit me like 
the rest: do not offer prayer. Man’s character is made by 
work, not by prayer; and to pray for my welfare 

after death, is to pray for that which will have ceased to 

233 


234 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


be. As for the divinity of Christ, and the Christian dogmas 
in general, I do not believe they are worth a consideration.” 

“My dear friend, you believe in God as much as I 
do, and therefore have a right to pray. God is not the 
God of the Christian only, but also of all those, like your¬ 
self, who look to Him for help and strength. And as a 
friend and counsellor, I have the right to pray that God, our 
common Father, may give you strength to stand the evils 
you now have to bear. The divinity of Christ is nothing to 
me. I know it is a dogma of the church, that never has 
been established. But the existence of God does not de¬ 
pend upon the divinity of Christ, nor any other dogma; but 
it is the acknowledgment of universal humanity. Man as 
man reaches out his hands after the hidden, yet everywhere 
present and felt, Deity. God is the object not only of the 
Christian heart, but of the heart of humanity. It is as nat¬ 
ural for the human soul to turn to its God, as for the flower 
to turn to the sun. You, therefore, as man, not as a Chris¬ 
tian, have the right to act as man, and lean on Him who 
alone can give you strength to bear your present evils; and I 
as man, not as a Christian, have the privilege to call on our 
common Father for the brother that I have upon this bed, 
in so great distress. As a believer in humanity, I pray to 
God for you, and not as a believer in the dogmas to which 
you refer. But if you do not believe in human nature, if 
you believe that its convictions are false, then, of course, it 
is useless for me to point you to it, as my warrant for 
prayfer.” 

“Thank you, Merton,” he said; “I like you, like to 
hear you talk. But, still, when you come to see me, do not 
pray. I prefer that you should come as any other friend. 
A great many come to see me, and I want you to come 
among them, as they come.” 

But, my dear friend, to do what you say, would be to 


DIVINE CONCEPTIONS. 


235 


disgrace my calling. It would be to acknowledge that my 
life is that of a humbug, and that I am but an impostor. 
Now, I consider myself a true man, earnestly believing what 
I preach. Therefore I could not become a party to a scheme 
which actively or passively acknowledges that I am acting 
the part of a mountebank. Unless you permit me to visit 
you as a minister of God, I can not come to see you; for I 
could not thus deny Him who, I believe, hath sent me.” 

Merton went to the rectory, and wrote him a long letter 
in which he set forth more fully the reasons why he could 
not again visit him, unless he could be received as a minis¬ 
ter. This letter, as Merton was afterwards told by Mrs. 
Gray, was at the sick man’s request frequently read to him, 
during the last few days of his painful life, and she thought 
it had a great influence over him for good; for at his death, 
which occurred in Washington, D. C., a short time after Mer¬ 
ton wrote him the letter, he expressed some belief in the im¬ 
mortality of the soul, and the hope that he would see his 
family again. 

While Merton considered the deity of Christ to be an im¬ 
provable dogma, the truth of the fatherhood of God he be¬ 
lieved attested by the whole of nature. That the disciples of 
Christ declared, and believed in,his divinity, Merton saw no 
reasonable grounds to doubt; but he also knew that many 
other individuals had been declared divine by men far supe¬ 
rior in ability and judgement to the apostles of Christ, and, 
yet, that no one to-day thinks for a moment of accepting 
their testimony as proving the divine nature of such indi¬ 
viduals. Homer, Hesiod, Plato,Socrates, and many others, 
assert that certain men were divinely begotten; but great 
as these writers were, we can but smile at their words. 
They assert that certain individuals were sons of God: 

“ O?cr0’ otiv rives toijtgju ayadoi ftaaiXeis Tjdav M Ivios re xai 
l ~Pa5dp.avdvs oi Aids tcai Evpidirys iraides , wv oi'S’ eialv oi vdp. 01 . 
, . .. oi ydp tad' 6 ti toOtov * aae^arepdv i<rriv ovS ‘ 6 


236 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUT. 


re /pi) paXXov euXapeiodat, TtXrjV eis zoos Oeous xat Xoyip xat 
epyto £%apapzav£tv i deurepov d'eis zoos 0£tooS avdpionoos? 

That as divinely begotten beings, some of them were 
specially instructed by God himself : 

ct Aeyet yap zov Mtvcov iroyytyv£0at £vazip ezei zip Act ev Xoyots 
xat ipotzav Tzatd£odrjirop£vov tvs otzo aoiptazoo ovzos zoo Atos . . . 
To yap Atos ovza Tzatda povov ono Atos 7t£7:aideu(T0dt oox £%£t 
bizepfioX-qv enatvoo” 

That as divinely begotten beings, they are -made judges 
after they depart this life : 

“ Kat zoos pev ex zt)S Ainas 'PadapavOos xptv£t , zoos S' £x zrjS 
EopioxtjS Ataxos' Mtvip d£ T:p£(T[3£ta dioao) £7ttdtaxptv£tv, £av 
anoprjzov zt zco kz£pu >, W ws dtxatozazrj xptatS y iz£pt zrjS 
izop£tas zots avdpiDizotS? 

That as divinely begotten beings, sacrifices are due 
them : 

cc & xptzvjv , £<pr] 9 zip AaxXrjiztip oip£tXop£v aX£xzpoovza. aXP 
a7Codoz£ xat p.rj ap£Xrj<TrjZ£ 

(Plato : Minos xii, xiii; Georgias lxxix; Phaedo lxvi.) 

“ Thou shouldst therefore know that some of these men 
were good kings, as, for instance, Minos and Rhadaman- 
thus who were sons of God, begotten by Europa, and who 
were the authors of the laws ; for, except it be to sin against 
God, nothing is more base, or more to be guarded against, 
than this,—to sin in word or deed against divinely begotten 
men.” 

“ He affirms that Minos passed nine years in discourse 
with God; that he was accustomed to visit God for the 
purpose of receiving instructions from him as if God were 
a wise philosopher.” 

“ The fact that he was the only son of God to receive 
personal instructions from God himself, confers the highest 
honors on Minos.” 

“Those coming from Asia, Rhadamanthus judges ; those 


DIVINE CONCEPTIONS. 


237 


from Europe, Aeacus. To Minos, because of his dignity, 
I will assign the position of counsellor, whenever the other 
two are at a loss what to do, in order that the judgment 
concerning the destiny of man, may be as righteous as 
possible.” 

‘ ‘Crito, ’ ’ he said, 1 ‘we owe a cock to Asclepias. Sacrifice 
it, and forget it not.” 

Reading these lines, Merton could not fail to see that 
other persons besides Jesus Christ, have been called sons 
of God, and said to have been instructed by God himself; 
that as Christ is, so they have been, held to have the 
power of judgment in the other world, and to be proper 
objects of prayer and sacrifice. So fully did the great and 
pure-minded Socrates seem to believe in the divine nature 
of such beings, that, as his dying injunction, he command¬ 
ed Crito to offer in sacrifice to Asclepias the cock he had 
vowed. But notwithstanding the greatness and wisdom 
of such writers, the reading of these words evokes only a 
laugh to-day, and rightly so. It seemed to Merton that a 
supernatural act could be proved only by supernatural evi¬ 
dence; and as all indirect or written evidence must, in the 
very nature of things, be natural, and the deity of a being 
could not be established except by supernatural acts, it 
seemed to him that the deity of Christ could not be proved 
by any such evidence as we possess; that, therefore, the 
only way to prove his deity, is that each person have such 
direct and positive evidence, as no man could refuse to ac¬ 
cept. For his own part, Merton was obliged to confess 
that he had never received such evidence. He had never 
witnessed a miracle; therefore he could not possibly say 
that he was satisfied with the evidence he had of Christ’s 
divinity; but he wished, as his disciple, to make himself 
and others, more worthy of being called the children of God. 

To teach the deity of a person, is to teach a most stu- 


238 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


pendous miracle; even that a virgin should bring forth a 
son, is something at variance with all the known laws of 
nature. Now, the two grounds of probability are conform - 
ability with known laws, and the testimony of others. 
Where the event in question is contrary to human experi¬ 
ence, in the words of Locke, ‘ ‘the most untainted credit of 
a witness will scarcely be able to find belief. ’ ’ But in the 
case of the New Testament miracles, it is much worse than 
this: for as we have seen from Mill, in our last chapter, 
the witnesses to these reported miracles are not considered 
worthy of untainted credit. 

Only those who by nature are sincere, and fill a posi¬ 
tion which they fear may be false, can imagine what Mer¬ 
ton used to suffer in those days. He was uncertain what 
he should do.' He loved the blessed name of Jesus, and 
would not knowingly faif to give him all the honor due 
his most beautiful life; but, on the other hand, to believe in 
a person in human shape as being the infinite God, when 
you are satisfied that the person’s deity has never been 
established, seemed to Merton a most dangerous thing, 
and to border on idolatry and blasphemy. 

In such grave doubts, Merton was never forgetful to 
ask God for help, who is conscious of all his children’s 
troubles, and ready and willing to help them. Indeed, 
Merton’s very breath was but a prayer that his steps 
might be ordered aright. Again and again would he, in 
the dead of night, reach out his hands to God, that He 
should take them, as it were, saying: “head me, O my 
Father, in the way I should go. Let me not stray from 
Thee. Oh, my God, be Thou my friend and savior. Give 
me wisdom to understand, and courage to do, the right. 
Thou wert the God of my father. He trusted in Thee, 
and Thou didst not forsake him. So let me see thy face, 
and live. Take not thy Spirit front me, lest seeing not thy 


DIVINE CONCEPTIONS. 


239 


face, I die. Thou knowest my mental troubles and deep 
anxieties. Come near me, I pray Thee. Inspire my soul 
with a sense and love of the truth. Heal my wounded 
heart; bind up my broken spirit; encourage my despond¬ 
ing soul. Hear me, my Father, for I am in great distress. 
The road I tread is dark. Let the light of thy countenance 
fall on it as a lantern to my uncertain feet. Guide me, 
Lord,for I am thine;oh, guide me for thy dear name’s sake. ’ ’ 
Thus did Merton live, tossed about on the seas of doubt 
and distress, but at all times ready to lay his life down for 
the truth, if only satisfactory proof were given him that 
he possessed it. , 


“God sends his teachers unto every age, 

To every clime, and every race of men, 

With revelations fitted to their growth 

And shape of mind, nor gives the realm of Truth 

Into the selfish rule of one sole race. 

Therefore each form of worship that has swayed 
The life of man, and given it to grasp 
The master-key of knowledge—reverence— 
Infolds some gem of goodness and of right; 

Else never had the eager soul, which loathes 
The slothful down of pampered ignorance, 
Found in it even a moment’s fitful rest.” 


{Lowell.) 






CHAPTER XXIV. 

the judge’s statement of the case. 

o* 5 s t£k€v ’ Aar v6xv p.ap6lvos aldoir) * Apr) i kparepip —- 

Whom the adorable virgin Astyoche brought forth to the 
mighty god Ares. {Hornet': Iliad it. 513.) 

M R - JUDEX was a scholarly man, honest in his con¬ 
victions, and of a most inquiring mind. He had come 
to spend the evening with Merton. It was a very cold 
night, and they were all seated around the big heater, 
which seemed to laugh with pleasure at every new supply 
of maple or oak. Mr. Judex had been brought up in the 
Roman Catholic Church; but was, at the time of making 
this visit, an unbeliever. 

* ‘‘My father,” he said, “intended me for the priesthood; 
but after acquiring a more intimate knowledge of the lives 
of the priests, and a somewhat superficial knowledge of the 
basis of the dogmas of the church, I refused to proceed 
with my studies for the priesthood, fell first into doubt, then 
into so-called infidelity. There is no body of men who are 
more full of unbelief than the educated clergy of the Ro¬ 
man Catholic Church; but like other ministers of the so- 
called gospel, they perform their functions, simply as a gen¬ 
teel way of making their living. Seeing that their followers 
delight in humbug, they think it no evil to supply them 
with this means of pleasure, especially since by doing so 
they always manage to keep themselves fat and in good 
liking. 

“Previous to my entrance upon a course of study for the 
priesthood, I had acted for a long time as priest’s boy; and 
it was while acting in this capacity,that I first began to doubt 

240 


THE JUDGE’S STATEMENT OF THE CASE. 241 

the sincerity of the men who served at the altar. I was not 
long at my studies before this doubt so increased that I 
regarded every priest I met, as at heart a knave. I found it 
impossible to believe that any man of average intelligence 
could attempt to maintain, upon so shadowy evidence, such 
a stupendous cause. This may have been an extreme view; 
but as I look back upon it now, I do not think it far astray. 

“ After coming to the United States, I took up the study 
of the law. It was after I had become settled in my pro¬ 
fession that I went over some of my old studies, as a law¬ 
yer goes over his case ; and I was not long in coming to the 
conclusion, that we have no evidence whatever for accepting 
one-tenth of the dogmas of the church, and none whatever 
for believing in the reported miracles of the New Testa¬ 
ment. I saw plainly enough that even if the writers believed 
what they reported, it is no satisfactory evidence of the 
truth of their reports; for in like manner have thousands 
reported seeing fairies and ghosts, yet such reports find no 
acceptance with us to-day. Again, we all say the sun goes 
around the earth instead of the earth going around the sun; 
and there is more in this saying than we are apt to think. 
It shows for a certainty that there was a time when people 
believed it. But the fact that such a belief was undoubtedly 
held, is no reason that we should hold it to-day. All the 
reported miracles of the New Testament are susceptible of 
ready explanation,—first, on the ground that belief in miracles 
was general, during the age in which the reporters lived ; 
and, second, on the ground that those who wrote the ac¬ 
counts of the life of Christ, invented the stories about the 
miracles, as in their judgment being necessary to the credi¬ 
bility of the rest, since every great hero was expected to 
perform such. The story about the divine conception is 
really laughable, and would cause a sensible man to question 
the character of the Virgin Mary, did he not know that such 


242 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUT. 


divine conceptions have happened in the world a great num¬ 
ber of times. Any man who had become great in the eyes 
of the vulgar, whether a warrior, magician, legislator, or 
teacher, would surely be calendared as having been the 
result of a divine conception. It was therefore but natural 
that the ignorant followers of Christ should imagine that 
he had been divinely conceived, and declare it to their disci¬ 
ples. But it is preposterous to ask any man of common- 
sense to believe in such divine conceptions to-day. It is a 
good thing to be a true follower of Christ; but it is an in¬ 
sult to ask me as a pre-requisite to such discipleship, to 
accept the absurd and wicked stories about his divine 
descent. I am not certain, indeed, that such a character as 
Christ ever lived, and you know well that this opinion has 
been, and is, shared by no small number of eminent schol¬ 
ars; yet I am willing enough to assume that he did live, 
that he had an honest mother called Mary, and an honest 
father called Joseph, that he grew up and became a 
great reformer—Socrates as it were arising from the dead. 
I am willing enough to suppose that such a person as Jesus 
lived; that he was born as others are born, and died as 
many others have died—a martyr for the truth. But more 
than this no man should be asked to believe, who knows 
any thing of the present and past history of the world; and 
more than this I for my part do not believe. I insist that it 
is no less absurd to believe the miraculous stories about the 
person of Christ, than the similar ones about the persons of 
other men—Buddha, for instance. Indeed, you know well 
that some of the most eminent thinkers of this age believe 
that Jesus is no more nor less than Buddha somewhat 
transformed to suit Jewish tastes and notions; that all the 
gospels are no more nor less than the stories about the 
birth, life, and death of Buddha, somewhat modified by 
time and place, to suit the reformed Jewish mind. I do not 


THE JUDGE’S STATEMENT OF THE CASE. 243 

know that this supposition is true; but I am sure theremust 
be some ground upon which to bas'e such supposition, or it 
would not be made by men who stand second to none in the 
world; for an eminently good and wise man can find no 
pleasure in asserting his belief in a conscious falsehood. I 
must admit that the analogy between the birth, life, and 
death of Buddha, and the birth, life, and death of Jesus, 
seems almost exact; and it is by no means impossible that 
the Buddhistic traditions floated around among the Jewish 
people, clad as it were in Jewish clothing, and that, in due 
time, they assumed the form they have in our present gos¬ 
pels; for it would be an easy matter to change the name of 
the hero, making it a Jew called Jesus, instead of an Indian 
called Buddha. Look at the analogy: Buddha was born of 
a royal and virgin mother, so was Jesus; Buddha’s advent 
was announced to the virgin mother by a mighty angel, so 
was that of Jesus; at the birth of Buddha a new star ap¬ 
peared in the east, so it was at the birth of Jesus; wise men 
brought costly offerings from afar to the shrine of the infant 
Buddha, so was it with the infant Jesus; at seeing the infant 
Buddha we have a learned priest singing a nunc dimittis, 
and at the sight of the infant Jesus we have Simeon doing 
likewise, and both declare they had seen the promised Mes¬ 
siah ; when it was known that Buddha was born, a wicked 
king, fearing him as a future rival, sends spies after the boy, 
so was it during the infancy of Jesus; Buddha is one day 
missed by his parents who found him some time aftewards 
in an assembly of learned Rishis, surprising them with his 
questions and answers; so likewise was Jesus missed by his 
parents, and afterwards discovered, in a similar manner, 
amazing the Jewish doctors. Buddha had a fore-runner, a 
herald; so had Jesus. Buddha fasts in the desert, is tempted 
by the prince of evil spirits, and chooses his disciples; 
so Jesus fasts, is tempted by the devil, and chooses disciples. 


244 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


Buddha had a beloved, a doubting, and a traitorous disci¬ 
ple, so had Jesus. Buddha compares the preacher to a 
sower, his gospel to a mustard-seed, false preachers to blind- 
men leading the blind, a repentant sinner to a returning 
prodigal; so did Jesus. At Buddha’s death the earth trem¬ 
bles, the rocks are rent asunder, and the sainted dead leave 
their graves; so is it at the death of Jesus. The Buddhistic 
church has convents, several orders of celibate monks, 
'ecumenical councils, and an infallible pope supported 
especially by the priests who contribute toward his support 
from the money they receive for reading masses for the 
repose of departed souls; so is it with the Christian church. 
If this is not a sufficiently perfect parallel, I know not what 
would make one. 

“ You say that no man of common-sense believes these 
absurd stories about Buddha. I suppose you mean, no 
man of common-sense in European countries. For we 
know that there are hundreds of millions, many of whom 
are very learned men, who do believe these stories, and are 
most earnest followers of Buddha to-day. I am sure that 
no man with common-sense who lives blest with the scien¬ 
tific knowledge of this nineteenth century, believes in these 
Buddhistic stories; but for the same reason he denies these, 
does he also deny those concerning Jesus. Still, a person 
would think that a Buddhistic priest would have the 
advantage over the Christian, since the faith of the former 
was well established, and very widely recognized, before 
Christianity was known, or thought of. I find no reason 
for accepting the teachings of the Buddhistic church con¬ 
cerning their great founder, except that he may have been, 
and probably was, a wise and great man; I find no reason 
for accepting the teachings of the Christian church con¬ 
cerning their great founder, except that he may have 
been, and probably was, a wise and good man. The Christian 


the judge’s statement oe the CASE. 245 

church denies the claims of the Buddhistic, and I think 
rightly so; the Buddhistic church denies the claims of the 
Christian, and I think with equal right. As no evidence 
has ever been adduced upon which the scientific mind can 
found his faith in the miraculous accounts concerning 
Buddha, so has there no sufficient evidence ever been 
adduced upon which he may found his faith in the miracu¬ 
lous accounts concerning Jesus. The weakness of the one, 
is the weakness of the other; both stand upon superstition, 
both fall in the presence of science. Of the two accounts 
there is but little preference to be given to the one over the 
other. It seems, however, that the Buddhistic is the more 
acceptable, absurd and impossible as it is; because it is 
easier to accept, and believe in, one stupendous miracle, 
than in a multiplication of miracles. But each account is 
absurd, rejected by science, and unsustained by any evi¬ 
dence that would be held sufficient, in a court of law, to 
prove I had sold my horse to my next-door neighbor. 
Taking away the superstitious element, every part of which 
is the laughing-stock of the reasonable man, I am willing to 
admit the superiority of the Christian system. But I am 
not willing to admit that the Christian system is superior 
because of the supposed superiority of its reputed founder, 
of which I do not feel certain; but rather because it is the 
religion of the more enlightened nations of the world, who 
in their advancing stages, have cast off from their religious 
faith not a little of the superstitious element, and, no doubt, 
will yet cast off the balance. Religion is a central fact of 
man’s nature; and the fact that it is so, has enabled the 
priests of every religion to play upon the hopes and fears 
of their fellowmen, as a cat plays with a mouse; and cer¬ 
tainly to dupe their followers more than any lawyer ever 
attempted to dupe his client, or mislead the jury. When I 
say priests, I do not mean exclusively Christian priests; but 


246 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUR. 


I mean those of every faith and cult. There surely must 
be a truth in religion; and it is the feeling after this truth 
on the part of the human mind and heart, that has enabled 
the priests to foist, for their own benefit, upon their re¬ 
spective followers, the mass of miracles and other supersti¬ 
tions which so mar the beauty of the central truth, as to 
make it almost invisible. For my own part, I have long 
since given up attending church services. As a rule, I 
never go at all. If I go, I go more for the sake of the man, 
whom I may wish to oblige or assist, than for any faith I 
have in the divine character or even usefulness of the 
church. I believe in a Supreme Power who is made visible 
by his works; and that seeing his works, men have ever 
been, and probably will ever be, formulating theories about 
his nature, attributes, how He created the world, and how 
He leads the human race to a higher and better life It 
seems to me that there must be a God who is the Creator, 
Savior, Redeemer, Sanctifier, and Father, of mankind; and 
I believe that man should endeavor, according to the best 
of his ability, to live a pure and righteous life. As to the 
question of immortality, I am not, and never expect to be, 
decided. I can say I have hope in it; I can not say I really 
believe in it. It has never been proved, I am certain, that 
man exists after death; it may never be proved. Still 1 can 
not see that it is irrational to hope for a future life; and I 
therefore hope in a life to come. I am called by many, 
foolish for indulging in such a hope; but for my part, I 
shall continue to remain in this hope, until some one proves 
to my satisfaction, that I am in error. It costs me nothing, 
and does no harm to anybody else, so far as I can see. 
This is the sum total of my religion, Merton. I have no 
less; and I assure you, I want no more.” 


CHAPTER XXV. 


THE JUDGE'S CONCLUSION. 

’ A<TK\r]Tn<$ 6<pei\op.€v dXeKrpvdva — 

We owe in sacrifice a cock, to Asclepias. 

{Plato: Phaedo , l xvt\ 118,13.) 

night was extremely cold; the heavens clear; the 



stars shining brightly; and the frost seeking to pene¬ 
trate every crevice in the parsonage. Merton determined to 
retire early; and to that end knelt, with his little family, in 
prayer. 

“O merciful Father,’’ he said, “direct our uncertain 
feet. Strengthen our jninds to know thy will,and our hearts 
to do it. Fill us, O God, with thyself that, our souls being 
purified by thy most glorious presence, our thoughts may 
rise clean and pure, as water from the living, limpid spring. 
Take not thy holy presence from us, O merciful Father. 
Dark is the way and chilly the night. Tighten our paths, 
and warm our hearts, O God of our fathers. Took in pity 
on the dear little babes Thou hast given us, and on the 
mother whom Thou hast so greatly honored, in permitting 
her to give them life. Oh, let our lives be precious in thy 
sight. From Thee nothing is hidden, to Thee all is appar¬ 
ent; and on Thee we hang as a babe on its mother’s breast. 
Hungry, Tord, we cry to Thee for food; thirsty, we come 
to Thee for drink; weary, we come to Thee for rest. Feed 
us, merciful Father, with the bread of heaven; assuage our 
thirst with the waters of life; lift up the light of thy coun¬ 
tenance upon us, and give us peace, for thy name’s sake.” 

It was at this instant that Mr. Judex knocked at the door: 

“I am come up,” he said, “to renew our religious dis¬ 
cussion.” M With your religion, Judge,” replied 
Merton, “I have no complaint; but surely, in judg- 


248 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUI,. 


ing every priest you meet as a knave, or as false at heart, 
you do some of them a great injustice ?” 

“ Perhaps I do, Merton; but I think, as a whole, my 
judgment is correct. I am fully satisfied that ten out of 
any average eleven priests I may chance to meet, would re¬ 
ceive a righteous judgment.” 

“But, Mr. Judex, do you not as a lawyer frequently say, 
that it is better to let ten guilty men escape than punish one 
innocent man ? ” 

“Yes, Merton; and that is the spirit of the law. Be¬ 
sides, I think it a wise and safe principle to act upon.” 

“ So do I, Mr. Judex; but in conformity with this 
principle, would it not be better to judge the next eleven 
priests you may chance to meet, as innocent men, thereby 
letting ten guilty ones escape, than judge them all as 
knaves^ thereby accusing one innocent man ? ” 

“ I do not consider the cases exactly parallel, Merton. 

In the law we have to do with a world perfectly known to 
us all, and with courts of justice, and juries, before which 
we ourselves may at any time be brought. I hold there is 
nothing like this in the church: nothing there is positively 
known; all has to be taken on faith; and the whole faith, 
when accepted, goes to the fattening of the priests who are 
wolves in sheep’s clothing. In the law there is perfect im¬ 
partiality. If we would rather let ten guilty men escape 
than punish one innocent man, it is because we ourselves 
to-morrow might need the benefit we offer another to-day. 
In the one case the principle is acted upon for the safety 
and well-being of the citizens as a whole, living in a well 
known world; in the other case it would be acted upon for 
the safety and well-being of the priests who, in return for 
such privileges, can offer their dubious teachings about a 
world that no living being knows anything about, except 
the priests, and many of them are honest enough to admit 


THE JUDGE’S CONCLUSION. 


249 


their utter ignorance. I insist the cases are not parallel. 
In the law the principle acts with regard to all alike; in the 
church it would act especially, if not exclusively, for the 
benefit of the ecclesiastics. Again, I am not certain that the 
priests as a class do really add to the elevation of the 
world. That they do, I think is fairly to be questioned. 
Indeed, I have sometimes thought that their work ought to 
be abated as a nuisance. Because of this I do not think 
that they are worthy of the benefit of a doubt. You may 
say that you are certain they do accomplish good in many 
ways. All right; no one denies it. But are you certain 
they do not accomplish more harm in other ways ? This is 
the question. I hold that the work of the priest produces 
as much harm as good; and I believe it produces more.” 

“Mr. Judex, did you not say some time ago, that re¬ 
ligion is a central part of man’s nature ? ” 

“ Yes, Merton, I did.” 

“ Can anything be more vital to one’s interest than the 
well-being of a central part of his nature ? ” 

“ I presume not.” 

“ Is it not necessary to the well-being of a central part of 
man’s nature, that such central part be guided aright, as it 
is developing ? ” 

“ Certainly.” 

“Who is it that guides this central part except the 
priests ? ” 

“ The priests are the reputed guides: but I hold they are 
blind-guides leading the blind.” 

“ That is not the question, Mr. Judex. The question is, 
whose duty is it, to whom is the work regarded as belonging, 
to guide this central part of man’s nature ? ” 

“Well, of course, it is regarded as belonging to the 
priests; but I think it might be better developed without 
them. It couldn’t be much worse than it is.” 


250 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUT. 


“ If anything be essential to man’s happiness, would you . 
not admit that that something should be taken cognizance 
of by the state ? ” 

“ I suppose that whatever is essential to one’s happiness, 
should be regarded as an object of the watchful care of the 
state.” 

“ Well, then, Mr. Judex, if you admit that religion is an 
essential part of man’s nature; that its proper guidance is 
essential to man’s happiness; that whatever is essential to 
man’s happiness, is a proper object of the watchful care of 
the state; and that the guidance of this central part of man’s 
nature, is generally regarded in the state as belonging to 
the priestly order,— do you not thereby admit that priests 
are proper objects of the watchful care of the state ? ” 

“ Well, as you put it, I guess I do.” 

“If then, Mr. Judex, priests are proper objects of the 
watchful care of the state, by what can they be guarded 
except by the law of the state ?” 

“I presume if the state doesn’t protect them, nothing 
else will ; for St. Joseph and the Virgin Mary won’t do it.” 

“ But, Mr. Judex, if the priests, as you say, are to be 
guarded by the laws of the state, would it not be according 
to law, to treat them as you treat the rest of the citizens, and 
give them the benefit of a doubt.” 

“ Supposing I admit that, what then ?” 

“ It seems to me, Mr. Judex, it would follow that you 
should regard the next eleven priests you may chance to 
meet, as you would regard any other eleven citizens of the 
state, and suppose them all innocent men, even if by so doing 
you let ten guilty knaves escape, rather than suppose them 
all guilty, and thereby possibly accuse one innocent priest.” 

“You are good at splitting hairs, Merton. You may 
have made your point, but you have not changed my mind a 
particle in regard to priests as a whole.” 


THE JUDGE’S CONCLUSION. 


25 


“ Mr. Judex, you must not suppose that I have any too 
high regard for priests. I assure you my experience has led 
me to think of them as anything else but gods. But they 
are a class of men we find existing in the world, and in the 
state, as far back as our knowledge extends ; and even when 
real knowledge of their existence fades away, there are still 
traces left of the presence of priests, or medicine-men.” 

“ Then you class priests with medicine-men, do you, Mr. 
Merton ?’ ’ 

“Their work is certainly similar, Mr. Judex, although as 
classes the two have become differentiated. You might say 
that medicine-men are infant priests, or that the both bodies 
are sub-orders of the same order.” 

“ Well, Merton, with your definition of a priest, I think 
I can afford to give the poor brute the benefit of a doubt. I 
will have in mind your definition, when I see the next priest 
entering on his incantations.” 

“ All right, sir ; that is all I ask. I can now talk with 
you, and believe that you regard me as a sincere man, and 
that you will continue so to regard me, until you have posi¬ 
tive knowledge that I am not; You have sometimes come 
to the services, since I have been here ; and as you come 
in the future, I should certainly feel very uncomfortable to 
look into your face, did I think in my heart that you thought 
me insincere. It is for this reason that I have spoken as I 
have, that I might lead you to admit what you have 
admitted.” 

“ I do not think that anybody, in this town, could regard 
you as insincere. You are too out-spoken for that. If one 
thing more than another has brought me to hear you preach, 
it is my belief that you in heart and soul are sincere. But 
you must not forget, that you do not preach as others do ; 
your doctrine is radically different. If it were not so, I 
would not come to hear you, however sincere you might be; 


252 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUR. 


for I should then regard you as a sincere dupe ; and with 
such I have lost too much time already.” 

“Do not forget, Mr. Judex, that the next eleven priests 
you meet, are to be treated, as you treat other men.” 

“ I have already promised you, Merton, I will give the 
poor wretches the benefit of a doubt.” 

“What you have said of Buddha, Mr. Judex, is highly 
interesting. I have not much to say with regard to it, except 
that I'have no faith whatever in the divine nature of the 
great teacher. I do not say, however, that he may not have 
come into 'the world with a mission to perform, nor do I 
deny that he may have performed it rightly and wisely, 
under the guidance of God. I think this is possible. And 
I am also willing to admit, that I can not see on what ground 
the Christian priest expects to preach the divinity of Christ 
to the Buddhists, if he refuses the proof the Buddhist priest 
adduces for the divinity of Buddha. It does appear to me 
that in character and value the evidence adduced to prove 
the divinity of the one, is similar to that adduced to prove 
the divinity of the other. I candidly believe that, were I a 
Buddhist, the Christian priests would find it impossible, to 
make me believe in the divinity of Christ, on the evidence 
they adduce in support of it.” 

“ Then you do not believe in the divinity of Christ, as I 
understand, Mr. Merton.” 

“I can not say, Mr. Judex, that I really disbelieve in 
Christ’s divinity ; but I must say that I feel quite uncertain, 
quite unsatisfied, concerning it. And I believe with my 
whole soul, from my knowledge of priests, that the pulpits 
are full of men who feel unsatisfied as to Christ’s divinity ; 
and I am certain that there always have been very earnest 
and learned followers of Christ, who have refused to accept 
his divinity, or regard him in any other light than as a man 
with a divine commission. I can not but admit with you that 


THE JUDGE’S CONCLUSION. 


253 


the miracles of the New Testament are unsubstantiated. 
Indeed, I do not believe it possible to substantiate a miracle 
with any less than direct and miraculous evidence. As to 
the internal evidence of the New Testament for Christ’s 
divinity, I can not see how it can be satisfactory. How do 
we know that a mere man could not have produced the pre¬ 
cepts of the New Testament ? If the mind of a mere man is 
capable of understanding these precepts, it would seem to 
follow that the mind of a mere man might have been their 
author. But more than this, I can not find any principle in 
the New Testament, radically different from those found 
elsewhere. It is true, that certain principles are more 
enlarged upon, brought more to the light; but nothing can 
be found in the New Testament radically new. In other 
words, all the principles of the New Testament have cer¬ 
tainly been produced by human authors, because they are 
known to have been current long before Christianity was 
established. The fatherhood of God, rewards and punish¬ 
ments, immortality, heaven and hell, prayer and sacrifice, 
priest and temple, penitence and divine forgiveness, the 
sanctifying power of the Holy Spirit, the duty of man to 
man and to God,— all these principles were taught long 
before the advent of Christ, and by people other than the 
so-called elect. I do not believe, therefore, it is possible to 
prove conclusively the divinity of Christ from the contents 
of the New Testament, nor by miracles except by direct and 
miraculous evidence. But although I do not believe that 
the divinity of Christ has ever been established, I am un¬ 
willing to say that Christ is not divine; I simply say his 
divine nature has never been proved.” 

“ When you speak, Merton, of the fact that the divine 
nature of Christ has never been established, I can not help 
thinking how false the position of the minister is, and how 
greatly he misrepresents the truth of things. If a man says 


254 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUR. 


he has never seen any proof of Christ’s divinity, the average 
minister’s reply is, ‘ That, sir, was given to the apostles long 
ago, and we have their testimony for it.’ I reply that the 
people who lived contemporaneously with Christ, did not 
believe in his divinity. This fact is proved to a certainty 
from the fact that they put him to death. What man that 
ever lived, or ever may live, would attempt to put a being to 
death, believing him at the same time to be God ? Jesus 
Christ was accused of blasphemy. This accusation, how¬ 
ever unjustly founded, proves the case that his accusers did 
not believe in his divinity. The minister says, ‘ His divin¬ 
ity was proved through certain select men.’ I answer, 
what a shame to use such beggarly language ! Was the 
God of the universe so weak that He could not satisfy his 
children’s rational demands ? Does God desire that his 
children should worship every being declaring himself to be 
God ? Now a man must either worship or not worship 
every such being; and since to worship a being in human 
form, or any other form, who is not really God, would be 
a most grievous sin, I hold it would be an offence against 
the majesty of God, to worship any being declaring himself 
to be God, unless the man asked to worship him, be given 
such proof of his divine nature, as he can not doubt. This 
is all the people asked who lived contemporaneously with 
Christ. Did they receive such proof of Christ’s divinity ? 
It is wicked to say they did, when it is admitted that Christ 
was put to death; and that even his own disciples, through 
fear, fled from his side, and with oaths denied him. It 
seems to me Celsus, even from the garbled account we have 
of his work, would make shorter work of the ministers of to¬ 
day, than he made of the ministers who lived at the time of 
his writing. I am sure that neither Jew nor Gentile would 
have crucified Christ, if he had been satisfied of Christ’s 
divine nature. Who would dare lay his hands upon whom 


the: judge’s conclusion. 


255 


he believed to be the infinite God ? Says Celsus, the Jew, 
writing in the second century, and admitted by Origen to 
have been a learned man: ‘ How should we deem him to be 
God, who not only in other respects, as was currently re¬ 
ported, performed none of his promises, but who also, after 
we had convicted him, and condemned him as deserving of 
punishment, was found guilty of attempting to conceal him¬ 
self, and endeavoring to escape in a most disgraceful 
manner, and who was betrayed by those whom he called 
disciples. He who was God could neither flee nor be led 
away prisoner. He who was a partaker at a man’s table, 
would not conspire against him; and if he would not con¬ 
spire against a man, much less would he plot against a 
God, after banqueting with him. And, which is still more 
absurd, God himself conspired against those who sat at his 
table, by converting them into traitors and impious men. 
What great deeds did Jesus perform as being God, having 
gained no one over during his life, not even his own dis¬ 
ciples, underwent those punishments and suffering? By 
what train of argument were you led to regard him as the 
Son of God? If Jesus desired to show that his power was 
really divine, he ought to have appeared to those who ill- 
treated him, and to him who had condemned him, and to 
all men universally. While alive he was of no assistance to 
himself, but when dead he arose again, and showed the 
marks of his punishment, and how his hands were pierced 
with nails. Who beheld this ? A half-frantic woman, as 
you state, and some other one, perhaps, of those who were 
engaged.in the same system of delusion, who had either 
dreamed so, owing to a peculiar state of the mind, or under 
the influence of a wandering imagination, had formed to 
himself an appearance according to his own wishes, which 
has been the case with numberless individuals; or, which 
is most probable, one who desired to impress others with 


256 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUT. 


this portent, and by such falsehood to furnish an occasion 
to impostors like himself. From such signs and misrepre ¬ 
sentations, and from proofs so mean, no one could prove 
him to be God, and the Son of God. The disciples of 
Jesus, having no undoubted fact upon which to rely, de¬ 
vised the fiction that he foreknew everything before it hap¬ 
pened. And certain Christians have corrupted the Gospel 
from its original purity to a threefold, and fourfold, and 
many-fold degree, and have remodelled it, so that they 
might be able to answer objections. Even although guilty 
of falsehood, ye have -not been able to give a color of cred¬ 
ibility to your inventions.’ Don’t misjudge me, Mr. Mer¬ 
ton: I love the name of Jesus, and believe he was a 
blessed man, a loving brother, a faithful teacher, and one 
worthy to be a leader of men; but I do not believe that he 
was God, or that he ever claimed to be, however much he 
may have been understood as making such claim. It also 
seems that most of the objections of Celsus, the learned 
Jew, are valid ones. They are just such as a learned man, 
in my opinion, would make to-day. I say nothing deroga¬ 
tory of the character of Christ; but I say what Celsus said, 
and which I think Christ would say : if a man wishes to 
show that he is God, he must prove his divine nature uni¬ 
versally, and by such miraculous works, as can not leave 
room for doubt. I may be called a heretic, but that is 
nothing to me; so was Christ, so was Socrates. Even 
Origen, the very man who undertook to answer Celsus, and 
who was undoubtedly the most learned of all the early 
Christians, was called a heretic, and, in the year 231, de¬ 
graded from the priesthood, and excommunicated by the 
bishop of Alexandria, and never afterwards restored. So 
if I am called a heretic, I shall find myself in the best of 
company. But speaking with regard to yourself, Merton, 


THE judge’s conclusion. 257 

does not your church hold the divinity of Christ as one of 
its fundamental dogmas ? ” ' 

“ I believe it does, Mr. Judex. In my teaching I do not 
deny the divinity of Christ; but I am inclined to make little 
of such a dogma, by magnifying others far more important.” 

“The teaching of the church, Merton, about the divin¬ 
ity of Christ, is insulting to the mind of man. What man, 
do you suppose, would refuse to believe what God declares, 
if he were sure that God declares it ? And if God declares 
his will in a way which makes it uncertain to man, man cer¬ 
tainly can not be blamed for not believing it. But since I 
can not believe that anything faulty ever came from God, I 
do not believe that God ever gave such unsatisfactory proof 
as we have for the divinity of Christ; nor do I believe that 
a thing having so unsatisfactory credentials, as the New 
Testament has, could ever come directly from God.” 

“ If the doubts I now have, Mr. Judex, ever grow into a 
positive conviction that Christ is not God, I will give up the 
work I am now engaged in ; but until then I can not see but 
that I should go on, and do as Christ did,—not talk of his 
divinity, but lead men to a better and purer life, and to God,, 
as the fountain of all goodness and truth. I am like you, 
much dissatisfied with the proof we have of Christ’s divine 
conception, unsatisfied with the proof of the so-called vir¬ 
ginity of his mother ; and it seems to me the probability 
against these things, can never be overcome by such 
evidence as we have in our possession. Still, I think it is 
right enough to call his mother a virgin, since every pure 
mother may be so called ; and as the mother of our great 
leader, I see no impropriety in styling her, the Virgin Mary. 
In the New Testament, even pure men are called virgins. 
So I can say, ‘ Born of the Virgin Mary,’ since I undoubt¬ 
edly believe that Christ had, at least, a pure mother called 
Mary, the lawful wife of an honest father. But while I 


2 5 8 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


believe this much of Christ,of anything more I am in doubt. 
You will understand me therefore: I do not deny Christ’s 
divine nature; I do declare I feel uncertain of it. When 
you see me in the services, and hear me preach, I only ask 
that you believe you see and hear an honest, earnest soul 
who would lay his life down for what he was sure was God’s 
truth. While I am with you, I hope you will help me 
build up men in a wise and rational faith, one that shall 
lead to a better and higher life. ’ ’ 

“I shall certainly do what I can to help you, Mr. Mer¬ 
ton; I am only sorry I can’t do more.” 

‘ ‘Strength comes to us, my dear Mr. Judex, as we put 
into action the strength we have: 

'■Hat man Viel, so zvird man bald 
Noch viel Mehr daztc bekommen. 

Wer nnr Wenig hat, Dcm zvird 
Auch das Wenige genommen ” 

{Heine.) 



CHAPTER XXVI. 


HUSK AND KERNED. 

What is the chaff to the wheat? saith the Lord. 

{Jeremiah xxiii. 28.) 

“M R -. MERTON, I greatly appreciated your sermon,” 
said banker Pomposity, “on the Miraculous in 
Christianity. It was a treat to me,and to all who were pres¬ 
ent, last Sunday evening. It is a rare thing, if not a start¬ 
ling one,to find a minister who admits the truths of science. 
I myself have long since stood where you now stand. 
Every one that has any knowledge of the matter at all, 
knows well enough that whatever occurs, whether now or 
in times past, is the result of law and established order. 
In order to believe in the immaculate conception of Christ, 
I must conclude that man is not man, that woman is not 
woman, and that God is not immutable but self-contradic¬ 
tory ; and all this must I believe on the authority of a few 
pages of writing not much less uncertain or untrustworthy 
than the Arabian Nights. It offends me greatly that any 
minister, through ignorance or fear, should dare preach 
such stuff in the presence of the average congregation. I 
am sure that if Jesus Christ wasn’t the son of his mother’s 
husband,he must have been illegitimate born; and this latter 
I do not believe. That the ignorant followers of Jesus might 
possibly have believed in his divine conception, is no reason 
whatever that I should believe in it; for in like manner were 
the founders of many other religions supposed to have been 
divinely conceived. Indeed, in early days immaculate 
conceptions were common; for it was nothing unusual for 
gods to have union with women. The world has been full 

2 59 


26 o 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUT. 


of incarnations of deity. It is, therefore, nothing strange 
that the founder of Christianity should have been regarded 
as an incarnate god, or that foolish people should so regard 
him to-day. Such belief I have long ago given to the 
wind, with the whale that swallowed Jonah, and the sun 
that stood still at the command of Joshua. In the name of 
common-sense, I hope to hear you speak of something far 
different; and judging from what I heard last Sunday, I 
should say my hopes are well founded. There is enough 
to talk about, when the fables are left out.” 

“The great majority of Christian people, Mr. Pomposity, 
do not agree with you ; and it is hard to cast to the wind, 
though they are but chaff, the dogmas which the average 
member of the church regards as the very foundation of all 
his hopes. I have but little, if any, faith in miracles, no 
matter by whom they may be said to have been performed ; 
but in this matter I am clearly in advance of the great 
majority of ministers; and this fact makes my position a 
trying one. It is true I find sufficient in Christianity to 
speak about, after I leave out the legions of devils, its fall 
of man, its divine conceptions, its story of creation, the 
golden streets of its heavenly Jerusalem, and the smoke of 
the torment of its hell; but only the better educated of the 
ministry agree with me in this matter, and most of them 
prefer not to disturb existing belief. To do so they know 
is to expose themselves to the murmurings of the ignorant 
portions of their congregations, and to the vengeance of 
their bishops whose power and prestige depend largely on 
the faithful reception of the monstrous fables of Chris¬ 
tianity. You are not saved by belief in the immaculate 
conception ; but rather by living as he lived, who is said to 
have been immaculately conceived. I am not able to 
accept the doctrine that I am saved by believing that Jesus 
is the Most High ; rather do I firmly believe that I am 



HUSK AND KERNEL. 


261 


saved by doing as Jesus did. He who lives as Jesus lived, 
will surely receive of that Strength which made Jesus so 
strong. It is not by faith in Kreeshna, Jahve, Christ, or 
Allah that a man is saved, for surely devils believe and 
tremble; but it is by doing the will of Him who sent us, 
that you and I are called the children of God ; and the will 
of him who sent us, is to do with our might what we believe 
in our heart we should do. Thus living, we may make a 
mistake ; but no other rule is near so sure to gauge cor¬ 
rectly the measure of our moral responsibility. He who 
lives up to it, whatever he thinks of the peculiar dogmas of 
Christianity, is surely on his way to a better life.” 

“ Merton, you mentioned the name of Kreeshna. What 
is. taught concerning this mythical personage?” 

“ Kreeshna, Mr. Pomposity, is one of the Brahminical 
names for the incarnate Deity. He is said in their sacred 
books to have dwelt on earth in mortal form, and thus to 
have delivered from his own lips to his chosen disciples the 
will of the infinite God. This name for the incarnate Deity 
more especially appears in the sacred book called the Bha- 
gavadgita, a work which Sir Warren Hastings pronounced of 
the greatest originality, sublime conception, reason and dic¬ 
tion; as containing a theology corresponding with that of 
the Christian dispensation, and most powerfully illustrating 
its fundamental principles. It is the real bible of the Brah¬ 
mins, and is believed by them to contain all the sacred mys¬ 
teries of their religion, delivered by the mouth of God him¬ 
self. It stands largely in the form of a dialogue wherein 
the chief speaker is Kreeshna, the incarnate God. It every¬ 
where teaches the unity of God who is represented as the 
Universal Soul immanent in all things. Concerning immortal¬ 
ity it says: ‘Asa man throweth away old garments,* and 
putteth on new, even so the soul, having quitted its mortal 
frames, entereth into others which are new. The weapon 


262 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUT. 


divideth it not, the fire burneth it not, the water corrupt¬ 
ed it not, the wind drieth it not away: it is eternal, 
universal, permanent, indivisible, inconsumable, incor¬ 
ruptible, and is not to be dried away.’ Concerning 
our duty it says:* ‘Be free from duplicity, and stand 
firm in the path of truth, and turn thy mind to things 
which are spiritual. Be not one whose motives for action is 
the hope of reward. Let not thy life be spent in inaction. 
Depend upon application, perform thy duty, and abandon 
all thoughts of the consequence.’ Whatever we may think 
of the origin of the Bhagavadgita, much of its teachings are 
certainly sublime.” 

“ Did this Kreeshna, Merton, call himself God ? ” 

“ He is certainly represented as doing so, Mr. Pompos¬ 
ity. In speaking of himself he says: ‘Although in my nat¬ 
ure I am not subject to birth or decay, and am the Lord of 
all creation, yet, having command over my own nature, I am 
made evident by my own power. Thus I appear from age 
to age, for the preservation of the just, the destruction of 
the wicked, and the establishment of virtue. Mankind was 
created by me. Know me then to be the creator of mankind, 
uncreated and without decay. He who beholdeth me in all 
things, and beholdeth all things in me, I forsake not him, 
and he forsaketh not me. The man who believeth in unity, 
and worshippeth me present in all things, dwelleth in me in 
all respects, even whilst he liveth. All things hang on me 
even as precious stones hang upon a string. I am dear to the 
wise man, and he is dear to me. I am the holy one worthy 
to be known. I am the comforter and the creator. I am 
the same to all mankind. They who serve me with adora¬ 
tion, I am in them, and they in me. I am the creator of all 
things, and from me all things proceed.’ These words 
spoke Kreeshna of himself, Mr. Pomposity, and thus speaks 
Arjoon of him, his favorite disciple: ‘I behold, O God! 


HUSK AND KERNEL. 


263 


within thy breast, the Dews assembled, and every spe¬ 
cific tribe of beings. O universal Lord, form of the uni¬ 
verse ! Thou art the Supreme Being, incorruptible, and 
worthy to be known. Have mercy then, O God of Gods! 
thou mansion of the universe! Reverence be unto thee, O 
thou who art all in all! Infinite is thy power and thy glory.’ 

“ Concerning what the good man may expect after death, 
the Bhagavadgita says: ‘ No man who hath done good, 
goeth to an evil place.’ The Bhagavadgita is truly a won¬ 
derful work, and one which had been in existence many 
hundreds of years, when Christianity was first introduced; 
and its contents are conclusive proof that God is no re¬ 
specter of persons, and that He is not far from any of us.” 

“ Do you believe, then, Merton, that the book you refer 
to, is a revelation from God ? ” 

“ In one sense, yes, sir; in another sense, no. I believe 
in the words of Zoroaster: 

“ 1 Tov ds voet 7:as vous Oeov , ou yap aveu 
Nous effrt vorjTou , xat to votjtov ou vou '/(opts unap/et. 
Ovopara (Sapfiapa prjizor aMazyS, 

Etffi yap ovopara Tzap ’ ‘exaarots Osoadoza .— 

“‘But every mind knoweth God; for the mind is 
not without the Intelligible, neither is the Intelligible 
without the mind. Never change barbarous names, for 
there are names given from God in every nation.’ 

“ While I believe no book is a direct revelation from God, 
I yet believe that the fundamental and universal principles 
of religions are true, and that they are the natural result of 
the Universal Spirit dwelling in man as a part of creation. 
In this sense does every sacred book contain some eternal 
truth, some revelation. In other words, they are revelations, 
as any other part of nature is a revelation, no more, and no 
less.” 

“ I have noticed, Merton, that there are many things in 


264 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUT. 


nature hurtful rather than beneficial. In every flower-gar¬ 
den there are weeds, in every field of wheat there are fre¬ 
quently many destructive insects. So if those religious 
principles are simply a result of nature, they may be false.” 

“ The weeds, sir, to which you refer, would not have re¬ 
ceived your notice, were there not flowers to be injured by 
their presence; and you would never seek to kill the insects, 
were there no precious wheat to be destroyed. So in relig¬ 
ious principles: if the destructive is there, so is the useful; 
if the weeds are there, so are the flowers. The wheat and 
the flowers are those universal and eternal principles 
of religions, which the various faiths of the world em¬ 
body, and set forth; the weeds and the insects are those 
differentiating principles of religious faiths, concern¬ 
ing which the judgments of their respective adherents 
are so contradictory. Or the flowers and the wheat 
are those principles of religions that bind the different peo¬ 
ples of the world together in theological unity, while the 
weeds and the insects are those religious principles that 
set the different peoples of the world at theological va¬ 
riance. I would say, root up the weeds that the flowers may 
emit still greater fragrance; destroy the insects that the poor 
may have more bread to eat.” 

“ Might we not regard the various phases of religion, and 
even their contradictory tenets, as the outcome of different 
civilizations ? If so, would it be wise to destroy what you 
have said ? ” 

“ I would not say, destroy such, Mr. Pomposity ; but I 
would say, never regard those peculiarities of the various 
human natures and civilizations as essential to true religion, 
or to true and saving faith in God. Even the same plant 
will vary, when planted in various climates; and less we can 
not expect of human nature, as it everywhere strives to per¬ 
fect its character. We may permit the modifications as use- 


HUSK AND KERNED. 


265 


ful variations, but we must deny that the variation of one 
faith must be assumed by the others. When I say, destroy 
the variations of the religious .idea, I only mean that we 
should destroy the spirit which regards the idea as dependent 
on the variation, and that we should cease to think of the 
religion of one people, as necessary to the well-being and 
happiness of another. The true God of one people, is the 
true God of all ; and the many gods of the various peoples, 
is the true God of none.” 

“ I am glad to hear such liberal sentiments, Merton, and 
I hope you will be brave enough to declare them. I am 
sick of hearing long-winded sermons on ancient myths, when 
there is such valuable matter all around us to base what we 
have to say on.” 

“ I am not much given to hide the thoughts of my heart, 
Mr. Pomposity; but this same open-mindedness may bring on 
me the ire of my bishop. Already he has written, praying 
me to be true to the faith. Our bishop is a good man, and 
I like him ; but he has less cause for listening to the voice 
of reason, and more for remaining in the house of bondage, 
than I have.” 

“ I have no place for the bishop, Merton. It is ridic¬ 
ulous to see his nonsense in the chancel. His bowings and 
genuflections are more than I can stand. He believes in the 
middle-ages. I doubt he knows the world moves. Such ac¬ 
tions in the chancel may be pleasing to some ; but, for my 
part, they appear obscene. I have never been confirmed, 
but I am not sorry; for it seems to me, the further one is 
from the chancel, the better it is for his stomach’s sake.” 

“ I have always loved the chancel, Mr. Pomposity, and I 
love the holy communion. In that holy sacrament, the idea 
of blood atonement has wholly passed from my mind. If it 
be true that Christ instituted it, I doubt not that it was sym¬ 
bolic of the offering up of himself as a sacrifice for the 


266 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


truth, as he understood it. And if he commanded that we 
should do likewise, it was that we, his followers, should de¬ 
note by that act our consecration to a noble life, and our 
willingness to die for what we believe to be the truth. It is 
not the offering up of Christ, that the hbly communion 
shows forth ; but rather the offering up of ourselves, our 
souls and bodies, unto God. So the value of the sacrament 
is not the offering up of Christ, but the offering up of the 
body and soul of the communicant. You and I can do this 
act at any time ; and, surely, it is but our bounden duty. 
While I live, I wish to hold myself ever ready to die for the 
truth. Such a life is a living sacrifice, and one well-pleasing 
to God. The sacrament, therefore, is not representative of 
a myth ; but i f shows forth a real fact, that I then and there 
offer myself unto God, a living sacrifice. Such an act is a 
noble one, and well calculated to strengthen the soul to live 
a pure and righteous life ” 

“ That is all very beautiful, Merton; but the worst is 
that the church doesn’t agree with you in this matter. The 
church says : ‘ Almighty God, our heavenly Father, who of 

thy tender mercies didst give thine only Son Jesus Christ to 
suffer death upon the cross for our redemption ; who made 
there a full, perfect, and sufficient sacrifice, oblation, and 
satisfaction, for the sins of the whole world ; and did insti¬ 
tute, and in his holy Gospel command us to continue, a per¬ 
petual memory of that his precious death, until his coming 
again ; Hear us, O merciful Father, we most humbly be¬ 
seech thee ; and grant that we receiving these thy creatures 
of bread and wine, according to thy Son our Savior Jesus 
Christ’s holy institution, in remembrance of his death and 
passion, may be partakers of his most blessed body and 
blood.’ Besides when the communicant receives the ele¬ 
ments from the hands of the priest, he is distinctly reminded, 
in the most solemn words, that it is the body and blood of 


HUSK AND KERNED. 


267 


Christ which he takes. It is not ourselves that is offered 
in the holy communion, Mr. Merton, according to the 
church; but that sacrament is representative of the obla¬ 
tion of Jesus Christ, who we are told, offered himself up 
once for the sins of the whole world. This doctrine I do 
not believe, nor can any sensible man. It is an unreason¬ 
able, unjust, and bloody doctrine. It might be acceptable 
to anthropophagists, but it cannot be to thinking men. 
No, I will have nothing to do with such an absurd and 
nature-contradicting rite. If your idea were that of the 
church, I could accept it, and would try to be worthy of 
participating in such a sacrament; but I shall have to wait 
some time before your interpretation will prevail. May 
the time hasten when such a rational doctrine will be ac¬ 
cepted. I see you’re impatient to go, and my business 
demands my presence. Our conversation must cease for 
the present. In parting, let me say to you, take good 
care of Mrs. Merton. She looks like a flower blooming 
for another world, and we want her here. The gods, you 
know, never gather unripe fruit: 

‘ Aber eure Hand bricht unreif nie 
die goldnen Himmelsfruechte .’ ” 

( Goethe: Iph. auf Tauris.) 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

DISCUSSION OF A PRIEST AND A WARDEN. 

Kal kol\6v ye t6 k\£os vlei re Aids p.d\a vplirov — 

Such honor is both beautiful and proper for a son'of God. 

(Plato: Leges 1.625.) 

JN every parish there are men who, in common, priestly 
language,are called dead branches. They have been bap¬ 
tized and confirmed, or by some form or other admitted to 
full membership; but little by little falling off from church 
attendance, they finally fail to attend at all. Again, there 
are multitudes of men who, although they have long since 
lost all faith in the church, and desire to remain away from 
attendance, nevertheless keep up their church-going, not 
having sufficient courage to sever their relations, fearing a 
loss of social prestige. Some, however, have the courage to 
act according to their convictions; and ministers find it 
much more difficult to bring such back to their allegiance, 
than to add new members to the fold. 

Mr. Morse was a college graduate, had been a warden 
of the parish, had lost faith in church dogmas, and had the 
courage to act accordingly. Said he, one Sunday evening 
after services: 

“I have but little faith, Mr. Merton, in the doctrines of 
Christianity. I have scarcely attended services for years. 
Since you have been here, I have come pretty regularly; 
but just as soon as you are gone, I shall fall back again 
into my old place of indifference. I have a contempt for 
the average minister. It is shocking to hear their contra¬ 
dictions; insulting to hear their maledictions against those 
who refuse to believe in their nature-subverting assertions. 
Who can believe, for instance, that a being in human shape 
is the infinite God of the universe! I declare that it is 

268 


A PRIEST AND A WARDEN. 269 

absolutely impossible for a reasonable man to believe such 
absurdity, as the dogma about the deity of Christ.” 

“ I do not believe, myself, Mr. Morse, that Jesus Christ 
was God. There have been, and are, men who are rela¬ 
tively very pure. Like a mirror, they seem to reflect the 
image of what the good man might suppose God to be. 
Such were Zoroaster, Buddha, Confucius, Mencius, Mar¬ 
cus Aurelius, Socrates, Plato, Aristotle, Jesus Christ, and 
many others; and it is possible, though by no means cer¬ 
tain, that Jesus Christ remains the greatest of all the great. 
In this sense, and in this sense only, can I believe that Jesus 
Christ was divine. In one sense all things are divine; for 
nature in its entirety flows out from God, as light from the 
sun. Nature itself is an emanation from Deity. Reason 
can conceive a being in human shape permeated as it were 
with the Universal Spirit, as a sponge in the ocean is per¬ 
meated with water; but it can not conceive the ocean as 
contained in the sponge, nor a man as containing God. If 
the Universal and Infinite Spirit was not contained in the 
human body of Christ, then, as the sponge would not con¬ 
tain the sea, so was Christ not God. As permeated with 
God, he might have been divine; as a sponge permeated 
with water, would be watery. But as the sponge contained 
in the ocean, can not be the ocean which contains it; so the 
finite, limited, human body of Christ, contained in the uni¬ 
verse, could not have contained the Universal Being which 
contained him. As of others, so of Christ; divinity is pre¬ 
dicable, but deity is unthinkable, and absurd. It is impos¬ 
sible for an intelligent man to conceive of a place where 
God is not: it is impossible that God should not fill the 
whole; impossible that the whole of existence should not 
be contained in Him; impossible that He should be less 
than infinite. It is, therefore, impossible that God should 
be bounded, or outlined, or have any conceivable form; and, 


270 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUT. 


therefore, it is absurd to think of the unbounded, formless, 
infinite Deity as being contained in the bounded, definitely 
formed body of Christ. And if God was not contained in 
the body of Christ, then was Christ not God. It is philo¬ 
sophically possible that Christ was full of deity; but that 
no more makes Christ God, than the fulness of the sponge 
with water, makes the sponge the ocean. It is possible, 
therefore, that Christ was in God; but it is impossible that 
God was in Christ. Or you might say, as the sub-genus 
vertebrata is manifested in the class mammalia, so may God 
have been manifested in Christ; but as the sub-genus ver¬ 
tebrata is not wholly contained in the class mammalia, so was 
it not possible for God to have been contained in Christ.” 

“ Although I have never attempted to give definite 
shape to my thought on the subject, Merton, I find it 
impossible to believe that Christ was the infinite God. But 
have we reason for believing that he was so full of deity as 
to be absolutely infallible ? ” 

“In answer to your question, Mr. Morse, it is certain 
that the proof of such infallibility being in Christ, may be 
looked for in only three directions,— his miraculous person, 
his miraculous works, and his superhuman teaching. If we 
examine the evidence for the miraculous personality of 
Christ, we are unable to escape the logical conclusion, that 
even though divinity may have been claimed for him, this 
claim can prove nothing, since similar claims had, and have 
been, made for the miraculous personality and divine nature 
of many others. According to eastern theology, the High¬ 
est Spirit has.manifested himself in human form, at various 
times; of these forms Vishnu is but one. Says the Svetas- 
vatara-Upanishad: ‘That incarnate Self, according to his 
own qualities, chooses many shapes, coarse or subtile, and 
having himself caused a union with them, he is seen as 
another and another, through the qualities of his acts, and 


A priest and a warden. 


271 

through the qualities of his body.’ And says Spencer: 
‘ The Dharma Raja is looked upon by the Bhotanese in the 
same light as the Grand Lama of Thibet is viewed by his 
subjects,— namely, as a perpetual incarnation of the Deity, 
or Buddha himself.’ And every one knows that the writ¬ 
ings of antiquity are full of theophanies. If we compare 
the accounts of the births of Aesculapius, Hercules, and 
Jesus Christ, we shall find a striking similarity: 


Hercules. 

* The lay records the labors 
and the praise, 

And all the immortal acts 
of Hercules. 

First, how the mighty 
babe when swathed in 
bands, 

The serpent strangled with 
his infant hands : 

Then as in years and 
matchless force he 
grew. 

The Oechalian walls, and 
Trojan overthrew. 

Besides a thousand haz¬ 
ards they relate. 

Procured by Juno’s and 
Euristheus’ hate. 

Thy hands, unconquered 
hero, could subdue 

The cloud-born Centaurs 
and the monster crew; 

Nor thy resistless arm the 
Bull withstood; 

Nor he, the roaring terror 
of the wood. 

The triple porter of the 
Stygian feat, 

With lolling tongue lay 
fawnirg at thy feet, 

And. seized with fear, 
forgot the mangled 
meat. 

The infernal waters trem¬ 
bled at thy sight; 

Thee, God, no face of dan¬ 
ger could affright, 

Nor huge Typheus, nor the 
unnumbered snake, 

Increased with hissing 
heads in Lerna's lake.’ 


Aesculapius. 

‘ Once as the sacred in¬ 
fant she surveyed, 

The God was kindled in 
the raving maid; 

And. thus she uttered her 
prophetic tale: 

Hail, great physician of 
the world, all hail ! 
Hail, mighty infant, who 
in years to come 
Shall heal the nations, 
and defraud the tomb! 
Swifc be thy growth, thy 
triumphs unconUm d ; 
Make kingdoms thicker, 
and increase mankind. 
Thy daring art shall ani¬ 
mate the dead, 

And draw the thunder on 
thy guilty head; 

Then fhalt thou die, but 
from thy dark abode 
Shalt rise victorious, and 
be twice a God.’ 


* 


Jesus Christ. 

Ye nymphs of Solyma be¬ 
gin the song ! 

O thou my voire inspire, 
that touched Isaiah’s 
hallowed lips with Are; 

Rapt into future times, 
the bard began: 

A virgin shall conceive, a 
virgin bear a son. 

Swift fly the years, and 
rise the expected 
morn, 

O spring to light ! auspi¬ 
cious babe, be born. 

He from thick films shall 
purge the visual ray, 

And on the sightless eye¬ 
ball pour the day; 

’Tis lie the obstruc'ed 
paths of sound shall 
clear, 

And bid new music charm 
the unfolding ear. 

The dumb shall sing, the 
lame his crutch fore¬ 
go, 

And leap exulting like the 
bounding roe.” 


“ Is it not strange, my friend, that the people should 
have generally believed in the divinity of such persons ? ” 
“It is very strange, Mr. Morse, that Christians, knowing 


272 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


the facts as they do, could ever allege such general belief 
concerning Christ; for nothing is more evident than that 
Christ’s divinity was not generally accepted by his contempo¬ 
raries. Of this we need no further proof than the facts of 
his friendlessness, his trial, and his shameful crucifixion; 
but other proof may be had from the many stories which 
became current, either during the life of Christ, or shortly 
after his death. In the Gospel of Nicodemus, the whole 
multitude are represented as charging Christ with illegiti¬ 
macy; and Celsus introduces a Jew as accusing Christ of 
having invented the story of his birth from a virgin. Mary, 
he says, the mother of Jesus, having been convicted of the 
crime of adultery with a soldier called Pandera, was driven 
from the house of her husband, and for some time wan¬ 
dered heedlessly about, until she brought forth her illegiti¬ 
mate son who was afterwards educated in Egypt. I do not 
like to mention these stories. I believe that Jesus Christ 
was pure, holy, and noble; that he was in birth, and in life, 
in every way fitted to be what he was — a leader and 
savior of men; but I do not believe that he was God. The 
same reasons which Christians adduce to disprove the 
divine character of Aesculapius and Hercules, and of other 
so-called divinely begotten beings, may certainly be 
adduced to disprove the deity of Jesus Christ. 

“ Being compelled to believe that we have no sufficient 
evidence for belief in the reputedly miraculous personality 
of Christ, can we say we have conclusive proof of his 
reputedly miraculous works ? In considering this question, 
it will be conceded that the improbability of miracles is 
very great; and that, therefore, the evidence necessary to 
substantiate them must be correspondingly great, or most 
clear and conclusive. If a miracle is not impossible, it is 
certainly highly improbable for the following reasons: 

1: It is contrary to the ordinary operations of nature; 



A PRIEST AMD A WARDEN. 


273 


2: Divine partiality and injustice appear inseparably 
connected with it; 

3: It takes a miracle to prove a miracle. 

“ Since the miracles of the New Testament are held to 
have been performed for the purpose of proving the charac¬ 
ter and mission of the miracle-worker, it seems impossible 
that the Divine Being could have performed such works, 
without being chargeable with injustice and partiality. 
For one person has no more right than another to have his 
doubts removed by supernatural evidence; and if one per¬ 
son more than another be vouchsafed such miraculous evi¬ 
dence, it seems that God would incur the charge of partial - 
ity and injustice. 

“If a witness declares that he has had miraculous evi¬ 
dence of that which he asserts, there goes with such decla¬ 
ration the implied admission that he would not have believed 
what he now asserts, had he not received the miraculous 
proof. But if the declarer acknowledges that he could not 
have believed what he now asserts, had he not received mi¬ 
raculous proof, he is precluded from expecting a third party 
to accept what he alleges, unless supported by similar super¬ 
natural evidence. In other words, — it takes a miracle to 
prove a miracle. For belief in miracles, therefore, the evi¬ 
dence must be miraculous and immediate or direct. While 
it is possible to give a natural explanation of the occurrence 
of any phenomena, no supernatural one can be admitted or 
thought of. This is certainly a safe rule; but it is one that 
makes it impossible for a person professing to have wit¬ 
nessed a miracle, to prove to another party the genuineness 
of the miracle he declares. For it matters not what the 
character of the declarer may be, the fact remains — hu- 
mani est errare, it is human to err; and the possibility of 
being deceived or mistaken, remains forever greater than 
the possibility of miraculous occurrences. It is more rea- 


274 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUP. 


sonable, therefore, to believe that the declarer has been de¬ 
ceived or is mistaken,' than that he really witnessed what he 
asserts. To substantiate a miracle the evidence must, there¬ 
fore, as we have said, be direct and miraculous. That God 
could give such evidence, can not be questioned; that He 
does not give such evidence, everybody knows. The fact 
that He does not, is to us conclusive proof that miracles are 
unnecessary. The testimony for miracles, given in the 
New Testament, is highly unsatisfactory, — indeed, as Mill 
says, insufficient to prove the occurrence even of an or¬ 
dinary fact; and absolutely worthless when adduced, as it is, 
to prove the reality of occurrences contrary to the general 
laws of nature. We do not, therefore, believe that we 
have any conclusive proof of the divine nature of Christ, 
from the reputedly miraculous works attributed to him; for 
such works have not been substantiated, and can not be. 

“ Shall we next ask if we have conclusive proof of the 
divine nature of Christ, from the character of his teachings ? 
It has been held by many that the teachings of Christ are 
superhuman. This belief is sufficiently refuted by the fact 
that his teachings are agreeable to us, and much more read¬ 
ily comprehended than the teachings of philosophers in 
general. And when we consider the fact that the teachings 
of Christ do not contain any essentially new ideas concern¬ 
ing either God or man, the absurdity of declaring Christ’s 
teachings to be superhuman, becomes sufficiently apparent. 
Whether we consider his person, his alleged works, or his 
teachings, we have no satisfactory and conclusive evidence 
that Christ was other than man, conceived and born of 
woman, and begotten of man; but we have every reason to 
believe that he came into the world, like many others, im¬ 
pressed with the idea that he had a work to perform; and 
we believe he did this work nobly, 1 and that he finally gave 
his life, as Socrates gave his, for the truth he had preached. 




A PRIEST AND A WARDEN. 


275 


I do not wish, Mr. Morse, to be known as a grumbling 
child of the Infinite Father. I am satisfied with nature as I 
find it; satisfied with the certainties of to-day, and the uncer¬ 
tainties of to-morrow ; satisfied not only with the knowledge 
I have of this present state, and the part I perform in it, 
but also with my uncertainties concerning a future state. 
On the other hand, I am not satisfied that God should open 
the heavens to the gaze of one, though it be Peter or Paul, 
and keep it closed to the gaze of others who strain every 
nerve to catch a glimpse of it. In other words, all I ask, in 
this battle for existence, is fair play; and that I expect God 
to give me.” 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 
quieting a mother’s anxiety. 

01 Aids Kal 'Ebpioirijs iraiSe s. iov oi'S’ ol vb/wi— 

The children of God and Europa, of whom are these laws. 

{Plato: Minos xxii. ji.) 

VJY dear son,” said Merton’s aged mother, “Mr. 

Judex, I believe, does not believe in Christ. Am I 
right in this?” 

“Mother, ’ ’ replied Merton, ‘ ‘it will depend on what you 
mean when you say, ‘believe in Christ. ’ If you mean to ask 
whether Mr. Judex believes that Christ is God Almighty, I 
answer, he does not; but if you mean to ask, whether he 
believes that Christ was a pure and noble man sent into the 
world to teach you and me how to live a better life, and pre¬ 
pare for a better state, I answer, he does. ’ * 

‘ ‘Yes,my son; but are we not told that,unless we believe 
that Christ is God, we can not enter the kingdom of heaven?’ * 
“We sometimes hear such words, or their equivalent, 
from the pulpits of the land, mother, without doubt; but 
when Mr. Gill told us, a little before he left for South 
America, that he had seen the devil and several of his imps, 
did you really believe his word?’ ’ 

“No, my son, but that was the saying of one man, and 
said only for a short time; whereas the other is said by so 
very many, and for such a long time.” 

“Because of the fact that millions of people, for thous¬ 
ands of years, have believed in witches and wizards, do 
you therefore believe in their existence?’ ’ 

“No, my son, but then—” 

“There is no ‘but then’ about it mother. That should 
show you plainly enough that the simple saying of things, 

276 


quieting a mother’s anxiety. 277 

does not prove their truth. If the preachers make such as¬ 
sertions, that does not prove that such assertions are 
founded upon truth.” 

“ But, my dear son, is it not so said in the Scriptures ? ” 

“ Different constructions are put on the same passages 
of Scripture, mother. I do not deny that passages, taken 
by some to mean just what you say, are found in the New 
Testament. As for myself, I do not believe that the New 
Testament anywhere teaches that Christ is God Almighty; 
and if I thought it did so teach, it would only still more 
lessen my faith in its authoritative character.” 

“ But, my son, when we pray to Christ, does that not 
prove that Christ is God ? ” 

. “ By no means* mother. When the heathen falls down 
before his stone-image, does that prove that the image is 
inhabited by God ? Our praying to Christ does not prove 
that Christ is God, for such a prayer may not be warranted. 
The Episcopal Church has but few prayers addressed to 
Christ. We pray to God, addressing to Him our petitions, 
or whatever it may be, through Jesus Christ. This does not 
make Jesus Christ the object of prayer, but rather the car¬ 
rier; or, if you prefer it, the person through whom we have 
access to God. Provided Jesus Christ and God Almighty be 
one and the same Being, a man who prays to Jesus Christ, 
would certainly be praying to God; but if they are not one 
and the same Being, would the man then be praying to 
God ? ” 

“No, my son, certainly not; but then—” 

“Yes, mother, I understand; but let me ask you to cease 
using such phrases as ‘but then.’ Very much danger lurks 
in the use of such sayings. They are blind guides which 
lead those who follow them into the ditch; they are dark 
words containing no light. Continuing what I was saying: 
if a man should pray to God, and Jesus Christ and God Al- 


278 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUR. 


mighty be one and the same Being, would not the man, in 
that case, be praying also to Jesus Christ ? ” 

“ Of course, my son, he would.” 

“If a man prays to God Almighty, and Jesus Christ and 
God Almighty are not one and the same Being, would the 
man not be still praying to God ? ” 

“Certainly, my son: how could it be otherwise. If a 
man prays to God, he prays to God.” 

“ So I think, mother. I therefore think the only safe 
rule a man can act upon in prayer is to pray to the Being 
whom we know to be God, or about whose deity there can 
be no question. Whether Jesus Christ be God or no, I know 
not. That he is not God, I know is the belief of the large 
majority of thinking men, and of all the adherents of the 
other world-wide religions. Of one thing I am sure, and 
that is, no satisfactory evidence, to establish his divinity, has 
ever been presented me. I know, on the other hand, that I 
am, that the sun rules the day, and the moon the night; and 
I declare that I firmly believe there must be a Power, con¬ 
scious, immanent, a Power in, through, and more than, all 
things; the Power through which, and by which, all things 
are. To this Power I pray, and, when I pray, my soul is 
not torn with misgivings as to whether the object of my 
prayer is God or not. For I am certain there is nothing 
greater, wider, deeper, mightier, purer, truer, more change¬ 
less, or more abiding, than the Power to which I pray. I 
pray, then, knowing, without one doubt, that if there is a 
God, which I doubt not, to that God I am praying. Such 
a prayer is not directed to a person whose deity has ever 
been the subject of dispute, and is denied by hundreds of 
millions; but to Him whom the universal voice of adoring 
humanity declares to be God. Let you and me, mother, 
pray and hope, strive and conquer; but when we pray, let us 
be sure that we pray to God. If we wish to pray to Jesus, 



QUIETING A MOTHER’S ANXIETY. 279 

I see no reason why we can’t, since I think it possible for 
the saints to hear us. If they could help us when on earth 
with their prayers, why can they not help us in heaven? But 
this is a question concerning which I can not speak with any 
definite knowledge: all is supposition.” 

“ But, my dear son, do you remember when your dear 
father died, how, with his finger pointing to the wall, he 
cried, ‘See, Lavinia, see the precious blood of Jesus!’ 
Could your dear father die so happy, unless Christ was 
God ? ” 

“ My dear mother, you know how dear my father, while 
living, was to me, and how sweet his memory is to me to¬ 
day. But how many thousands of heathens have hurled 
themselves into the funeral-fires, rejoicing at the thought 
that their spirits were about to accompany those of their 
friends to the skies ? How many thousands have thrown 
themselves under the heavy wheels of the car of their god, 
expecting through such immolation a more abundant reward! 
Because they did these things, do you therefore say they 
acted reasonably, or that their expectations were founded 
upon truth ?” 

“ No, my son; but —” 

“ I have already spoken, mother, of the use of ‘ but,’ and 
said it is a dangerous word to use. The truth is: as a man 
thinketh in his heart, so is he. No matter what a man be¬ 
lieves; if it be a comforting belief, and he have no doubt, 
he will die with a shout. Thus we find Mohammedans, 
Buddhists, Brahmins, Christians, and even the American In¬ 
dian on the eve of entering the Happy Hunting-Ground, all 
dying with a shout, each alike satisfied that, as Socrates said, 
he is about to be ‘ released from a prison as it were.’ That 
a man dies happy in his faith, is no proof whatever that he 
does not die deceived. When you are at home in Eudoxia, 
you might be happy to-day, at the thought of setting out to 


28 o 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL,. 


visit me to-morrow, when, at the same time, I might have 
died yesterday, without your knowing it. But it would be 
all the same to you, as long as you imagined I was living. 
My father lived a good life ; he was a child of God. As 
such the Father took him, whether his faith was such as it 
should have been or not. It is the heart that God looks to 
— the intention, more than to the form of words. If God 
should now ask me, ‘ what art thou ? ’ what could I answer, 
but ‘ a poor, wandering, erring child looking for Thee, my 
Father;’ but if He should ask me, ‘what wilt thou?’ I 
should say, ‘perfect conformity to Thy will, my God.’ It 
is the latter expression, in my judgment, that God delights 
to hear; for what are we in God’s sight, no matter how pure 
and holy, but weakness and error! Thus with my dear 
father: the confession he made, when dying, was valuable, 
not so much for what it showed him to be, as for what it 
showed he wished to be. No soul, mother, who longs to get 
nearer to God, can ever be cast out from His presence.” 

“ My dear son, you make things very plain to your aged 
mother, although I can’t reason with you. Many things 
you say are very strange to me. Your mother loves to hear 
you talk ; you remove the mists that hang before my eyes a 
great deal.” 

“ I am glad, my dear mother, that you are able to say so 
much. God grant that you may never have cause to 
say worse. I wish I could remove the mists from the eyes 
of thousands who are nearly blinded with superstition and 
error. But it is hard, mother, to make a man believe that 
his household gods are not the great powers he supposed 
them to be; hard to make a man think that the faith of his 
childhood is not true. But thousands are falling all around 
us from the faith they once held, as leaves from the tree in 
autumn. It is impossible that men should continue, in the 
light of reason and science, to believe much longer the 


QUIETING A MOTHER’S AXIETY. 


281 


faith of their childhood. It is honey-combed, rotten, crum¬ 
bling away. It is dying; and I say, let it die, and be 
gathered to its fathers, the superstitions of the past ages. 
But it dies hard: preachers and theologians are prescribing 
new remedies; but the old faiths have an incurable dis¬ 
ease: they are unreasonable; they must and will die. They 
offer us a god unjust and bloody; and this in itself is suf¬ 
ficient to prove their falsity. Says Goethe: 

‘Der ?nissversteht die Himmeliscken, der sie blutgierig xvaehnt .’ ” 

(////. atif Tauris /. 3.) 


CHAPTER XXIX. 


LAW AND ECCLESIASTICISM. 


Law serves morality by securing the free development of its 
power residing in every human will. ( Savigny .) 

cis o pa v6/jlovs dvOpibxoLS avayKaiov rldeadcu, ical £rjv Kara vbp.ov s— 
It is necessary that laws should be established for men, 
and to live according to law. {Plato: Leges ix. 874.) 


pARTlyY arising from Merton’s doubts as to the truth of 
many of the dogmas of the church, and partly to fill 
the requirements of the university in his course of study 
for the degree of LL.D., he resolved to leave the active 
work of the ministry for three years, and devote himself 
to the study of the law, ancient and modern. 

The university was situated in a beautiful village of¬ 
fering a quiet retreat to such as might be mentally dis¬ 
turbed. This in addition to the fact that his new duties 
would necessarily call off his thoughts from those subjects 
that had been so greatly troubling Merton, made his so¬ 
journ, at the law-school, a physical no less than an intel¬ 
lectual blessing. 

In the study of the law, Merton found great delight. 
In it he discovered something real, not imaginary; some¬ 
thing tangible, not a ghost. Having only to do with the 
world that is, it contains 110 imaginary factors. Says 
Aristotle: 

“ (pavepov 6 ti tuv (pboei 17 7r6\ts tori icai 8t t &vdpuwos <pij<rei 


tto\itik 8 v faov —It is evident that the city is the natural 
out-come of these things, and that man by nature is a po¬ 
litical animal.” (Repub. 1.2,9.) Taw is therefore as much 
the proper product of human development, as the rose is 
the natural result of the development of the rose-tree. By 
the study of the law Merton’s admiration for ecclesiasticism 
was diminished, rather than increased; for it is in the re- 

282 


LAW AND ECCEESIASTICISM. 


283 


lation of the church to the state, that the base cunning 
and intrigue of ecclesiastics are most brought to light. 
What the church has not been able to accomplish by what 
it has been pleased to call, ‘ ‘the power of the Holy Ghost, ’ * 
she has accomplished by the sword and the legislature. By 
bribes and threats the bishop has generally succeeded in 
getting from the king such as he sought for the advance¬ 
ment of his own order; which, in ecclesiastical language, is 
for the advancement of the glory of God. 

Since the 17th century, no ecclesiastic has been Lord 
Chancellor; “and,” says Lord Campbell, “I presume the 
experiment is not likely to be soon repeated. ’ ’ 

The sources of law and religion are supposed to be 
radically different ; and certainly they have not the same 
end in common. Law is founded in utility, and is wholly 
originated and preserved by the people. Religion, on the 
other hand, is supposed, by those most interested in it, to 
have had a superhuman origin; and its prime factors are 
supposed to be beyond the test of human reason. The end 
of the law is perfection of known existence; while the 
end of religion is said to be the proper preparation for an 
unknown existence. Law is wholly the fruit of human 
reason; religion is essentially the fruit of superstition and 
belief. If religion is to be enjoyed at all, all men should be 
free to follow whatever forms of religion may seem most 
agreeable to their respective natures, it being understood 
that no man should be permitted to follow or enjoy any 
religion opposed to the interests of the state. In judging 
whether or not any system of religious belief be detrimental 
to the interest of the state, known facts must be preferred 
to unknown, the results of experience to the claims of 
faith. Law should secure the freedom of individual 
opinion, except where, by the use of such individual free¬ 
dom, the institutions of state, or the liberties of others, are 


284 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


endangered. That law may fulfill these grand purposes, 
fanaticism must not be one of its elements; and that it may 
be a shelter to all, it must not be exponential of the cre¬ 
dulity of any. As soon as religion puts its hand to the helm 
of the ship of state, the security of the nation and its citi¬ 
zens is gone. The end and sphere of law demand that the 
ark in which the sacred rights and liberties of the people 
are preserved, be never approached by the hand of him 
who seeks legislative discrimination in religious matters. 
Law in its very nature is national; religion in its very 
nature is exclusive and narrow. We may say with truth 
that however beautiful the life of Christ may have been, the 
lives of his followers have been seen to the worst advantage, 
when they have had power to enforce their views upon 
others. Christians have been neither charitable, nor merci¬ 
ful, when the laws of the land were determined by the 
church. Calvin was designed for the priesthood, and held 
a benefice at the early age of twelve years. Very early he 
saw the false and dangerous claims of the Pope, and gave 
up his benefice. He then with great zeal applied himself 
to the study of the law at Orleans, but afterwards took up 
theology again. His legal studies sharpened his powers of 
judgment, and he soon became the most inveterate enemy 
of Rome, even declaring the Pope to be antichrist. Calvin 
became the champion of the French Reformation, but as 
soon as Francis I began to revel in Protestant blood, Calvin 
was compelled to fly from Paris. He then denounced in 
fiercest language the tyranny of the Pope, and the unscript- 
ural character of the Roman Catholic Church, and soon 
convinced his enemies of his ability as a disputant and a 
leader of men. He swayed the hearts of thousands; his 
authority and rule rapidly increased, until his victory was 
complete. The usual result followed. Calvin set up an 
inexorably rigid church discipline; instituted an ecclesias- 


IvAW AND ECCDESIASTICISM. 285 

tical consistory empowered to inflict heavy penalties civil as 
well ecclesiastical, and through it exercised almost unlim¬ 
ited sway. The citizen was called to answer for every 
suspicious expression, the incorrigible being banished, and 
the dangerous put to death. One was imprisoned for 
speaking slightingly of his doctrine; another was put to 
death for denying the Trinity. When Calvin was denied by 
Rome the right of freedom of speech, he denounced the 
Pope in the most bitter terms; but as soon as he had 
acquired the authority, he became more oppressive than the 
Pope himself. The Romish hierarchy is the mother of 
religious intolerance; but the spirit of intolerance is coex¬ 
tensive with religious superstition, and manifests itself 
immediately at the excessive dominance of any religious 
party. 

In the year 1534, the English Church severed its con¬ 
nection with Rome by statute xxvi Henry VIII, c. 1; and 
in 1537 the reformation of the English Church, under 
Henry VIII, had reached its culminating point. The 
grounds of this separation were papal tyranny, and political 
difficulties arising out of the recognition by English citizens 
of foreign authority. But the English Church having 
thrown off the yoke of its foreign master, it was not long 
before the people discovered, that the tyranny of the Pope 
had only been transferred to English bishops. 

From the earlist ages, scepticism has always prevailed 
among the powerful and the more learned; but the ignorant 
and the weak have been kept in servile bondage to priestly 
dictation. Very early in the reformation of the English 
Church, it began more and more to restrict the liberty of 
speech, and to enforce conformity to its ritual and dogma. 
Queries ex officio mero were issued against clergymen, to 
answer under oath questions which involved their opinions, 
not only as to matters in which they had, or might have, 


286 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUR. 


conformed, but also as to their future intentions concerning 
conformity. To obtain their ends, the governors of the 
church resorted to the barbarous cruelty of torture. Acts 
of Conformity were passed, §§2 and 3 Edward VI, c. 1; §§5. 
and 6 Edward VI, c. 1, which were afterwards abolished by 
Mary, sessions ii, c. 2; and on April 29th, 1659, the Acts of 
Supremacy (I Eliz. c. 1) and Uniformity (I Eliz. c. 2) were 
passed by parliament. Under these acts, all non-conform¬ 
ists were punished by fines, imprisonment, or banishment. 
Life became grievous; multitudes left the country. But 
the great engine of tyranny was the Ecclesiastical Commis¬ 
sion. This was established under the eighth clause of the Act 
of Supremacy, which permitted the queen to delegate her 
powers to persons appointed to carry out the purposes of 
the Acts of Supremacy and Conformity. The power thus 
delegated was indefinite and almost unlimited, all opinions 
and actions, contrary to the above legislative acts, falling 
under its cognizance. This unmerciful persecution by the 
English Church caused a consequent antagonism which 
sought its revenge in the overthrow of the established 
church. But here again we find the persecuted soon 
becoming the persecutors. On January 3rd, 1645, an ordi¬ 
nance was passed by parliament, prohibiting the public use 
of the prayer-book; and on August 23rd of this year, this 
prohibition was made general. Thus was the established 
church overthrown, and humbled almost to death through 
its own arrogance, and tyranny. 

One would think that the Puritans, having thus tasted 
the bitterness of oppression, would in their days of power 
be tolerant; but they were not so. They acted as had their 
brother ecclesiastics in like position : they proved what may 
be said to be a universal truth,—oppression always follows the 
free exercise of the will of an ecclesiastical legislature. The 
Puritans of the Commonwealth manifested the most bitter 


LAW AND ECCLESIASTICISM. 


287 


spirit of revenge, and set up a government the most intol¬ 
erant of all. The royalist clergy were deprived of every 
means of living, and all persons were prohibited from em-. 
ploying them even as tutors. They established a tribunal 
called the Triers, to which was assigned all authority in 
matters of church government; and they passed an ordin¬ 
ance against heretical opinions. They even endeavored to 
deal with private vices by passing several laws against im¬ 
morality ; and they everywhere persecuted the adherents of 
Episcopalianism. During the eleven years (1649-1660) 
in which the Puritans had full sway, they set the church 
above the state, and made gods of their ministers. Said 
Cartwright, one of their great leaders : 1 The magistrates 

must remember to submit themselves unto the church, to 
throw down their crowns before the church, yea, as the 
prophet speaketh, to lick the dust off the feet of the church.’ 
Puritanism was the child of oppression, but it early became 
the prince of tyrants. So shameful, unmerciful, violent, 
and tyrannical, had the exercise of their power become that 
even the Presbyterians hailed with delight its fall, and the 
restoration of the monarchy. The joy in England at the 
coming of Charles, was general and genuine, and the bells 
tolled out the song of gladness. 

Ecclesiastics can not be permitted to determined legis¬ 
lation ; for so great is their love of power, that they will 
even destroy themselves to satiate it. They can no more be 
trusted with government than the tiger with the taste of 
blood. By permitting ecclesiastics to have the power of 
determining legislation, the state renders impossible the end 
of government—the welfare of the citizens as a whole. The 
welfare of religion should not be considered, when the leg¬ 
islature asks itself, whether or not any particular legislation 
will be beneficial to the state. It should be determined by 
the general ideas of the state at large, as enlightened by 


288 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL,. 


science and reason. Religion is in its very nature exclusive 
and arbitrary, and it is as naturally productive of intolerance 
as the sun is of heat. The seeming liberality which prevails 
at certain times and places, is not the fruit of religion ; but 
as a man will give all that he has for his life, so will any 
ecclesiastical body suffer many grievous things, rather than 
be pressed to death by the pressure of public opinion. We 
have no grounds for supposing that different results from 
those mentioned above would follow to-day the excessive 
dominance of any ecclesiastical party ; but the spread of 
scientific knowledge, and the consequent dissipation of su¬ 
perstition and credulity, tending to bring into subjection 
more and more any and every form of religious faith, gives 
us good assurance, that the enlightened nations of the world 
will not again try the experiment of allowing ecclesiastics to 
shapen legislation to the jeopardy of liberty and truth. 

An immoral religion should be proscribed by the state. 
In considering the fitness of a religion, positive facts showing 
incontrovertably its evil results, should outweigh all declar¬ 
ations, made by its adherents, that its origin is divine. This 
rule should be followed for three reasons : 

1 : The teachers of all religions are greatly interested 
parties, and are, therefore, naturally prejudiced in favor of 
their respective creeds ; 

2 : Positive knowledge is superior to mere faith or be¬ 
lief ; 

3 : It is not to be believed that God would reveal a 
religion injurious to society. 

The people of the state should, therefore, judge of the 
fitness of a religion, and their criterion must be present util¬ 
ity. . What is right and what is wrong, are questions which 
always exist in public and in private; and in answering 
them, not only the individual, but also the nation will fre¬ 
quently be sorely perplexed. The ecclesiastic holds that 



LAW AND ECCLESIASTICISM. 


289 


many such questions can be answered only by God, and that 
such have been answered by Him once for all in the Bible. 
This is natural : it is to the interests of ecclesiastics to say 
so. But we hold that the correct* answer to the question, 
what is useful ? is also the correct answer to the seemingly 
mysterious one, what is right? Right with one nation is 
right with another nation, only so far as the questions in¬ 
volved affect alike their respective interests. What is really 
useful to the individual or the nation, is what that same in¬ 
dividual or nation believes to be right ; and this is the ex¬ 
planation why good ecclesiastics have been the most infam¬ 
ous persecutors. What they desired, appeared useful to 
them ; and they, therefore, thought it would be right, and 
pursued after it with all the power they could command. 

As a guide and teacher law is most powerful. Religion 
has a strong influence over some, law the strongest influence 
over all. Many of the noblest are not interested in religion, 
founding their objections on its contradictory character, and 
the lack of reasonable evidence to support its claims ; but 
the law is equally binding on all, from the king to the peas¬ 
ant. Its invincible power is recognized by all, because on 
the enforcement of the law, depends the safety of the indi¬ 
vidual, as well as the welfare of the nation. The tendency 
of the law is to exterminate the very impulse to trespass be¬ 
yond the proper region of free action. Religion interests a 
few ; law interests all. Law determines our action for a 
world we know all about ; religion determines our action 
for a world we know nothing about, all the creeds to the 
contrary. Law is all-mighty. We see the cowardly and 
superstitious John, for his disobedience to Rome, licking 
the dust off the feet of the proud tyrant who arrogates to 
himself the power of the Almighty ; but in one hundred and 
sixty-two years from that time, in the year 1365, we see the 
law asserting itself, in parliament, over kings and popes, by 


290 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


repudiating papal supremacy, and refusing the papal tribute 
undertaken by John. A king tyrannizes over his subjects, 
and covers his despotism with the cloak of religion ; but the 
wrathful nation, recalling* its ancient privileges, determines 
to enforce the law, and they wring from their law-breaking 
king, on the 15th of June, 1215, at Runnymede, the Great 
Charter, the bulwark of English liberty. Popes can buy 
and sell passports to heaven, and give to whom they will 
their papal indulgences ; but the law brings the proudest 
usurper down, and humbles him in the dust. From the in¬ 
fancy of humanity to the present time, there never has been 
wanting forces to impede the free develppment of the human 
mind, by suppressing thought, and wrapping the individual 
in mysticism and darkness. The greatest of these forces 
has been that of religious teaching, whether Christian or 
heathen. In the fourteenth century, when English human¬ 
ity began to groan under oppression, and demand the ex¬ 
tension of liberty, the church advised emancipation ; but 
although she could advise the barons to emancipate their 
serfs, she had not the virtue to emancipate her own. To 
secure herself the church could set the king above all 
earthly power, by preaching divine right and passive obe¬ 
dience. The law, on the other hand, asserting all authority 
to be in the will of the people, would not thus be deprived 
of its throne. When James II commanded the young Duke 
of Somerset to introduce the papal nuncio, the young man 
replied : ‘ I am advised that I can not obey your majesty 

without breaking the law.’ ‘Do you not know,’ replied the 
king, ‘that I am above the law ? ’ ‘ Your majesty may be,’ 

answered the young duke, ‘ but I am not.’ 

The nation guided by the church, is sure to die ; the na¬ 
tion guided by the will of the people, is sure to live. Spain 
is an example of the former; England and the United 
States, examples of the latter. Italy, while under the rule of 


tAW AND ECCDESIASTICISM. 


the priest, was a carcass; having cast off the ecclesiastical 
yoke, she was coming to the front among the great nations 
of the world. The hand of the priest paralyzes everything 
it touches; the will of the people, when expressed in law, 
raises the nation up. 

The power and saving nature of the law is well ex¬ 
pressed by Tord Coke: “By the common law,” says he, 
“every man’s house is called his castle. Why? Because it 
is surrounded by a mote, or defended by a wall? No! It 
may be a straw-built hut; the wind may whistle through 
it, the rain may enter it, but the king can not.’’ 

Such characters as Hardwicke, Camden, Thurlow, Ros- 
lin, Redesdale, Grant, Eldon, and others, permeate the 
whole nation with the spirit of justice, and move it onward 
toward the goal of perfection. Whether we consider 
the pillars of government, the pilots of the ship of state, the 
makers of commerce, the leaders of society, the originators 
of peace, or the guides of individual action,—we shall find 
first and foremost, in power and example, the great lights 
of the law. 

The greater the priestly power in a nation, the less its 
sympathy. When England was most governed by priests, 
she could hang up men by the feet, and smoke them as if 
hams; could exile every Jew, and most barbarously treat 
thousands of ill-fated people; could shut up within dungeon 
walls at the behest of a bigot called Clement IV, a Roger 
Bacon, on the charge of heresy, although he had spent a 
large fortune for the advancement of science, and was con¬ 
fessedly the most learned man of the age. The nation is in 
danger, if under the heels of the priesthood; ecclesiastics 
are not to be trusted, either as judges or legislators; the ap¬ 
parent fraternal feeling which at times exists between dif¬ 
ferent denominations, is not the result of the spirit of 
kindness, but is manifested for the sake of self-preservation, 


FOOTPRINTS OP A SOUT. 


292 

infidelity and public opinion forcing it; Christians when in 
power have been neither charitable nor merciful; ecclesias¬ 
tics can not be permitted to determine legislation; reason is 
above dogma and the bible; the teachers of all religions are 
naturally interested parties, and therefore their declarations 
must be received accordingly; religious teachers have 
helped to keep the mind of man in darkness; the nation is 
sure to die, if guided by the priesthood, for the priest para¬ 
lyzes whatever he touches. 

The fact that the truth of these allegations was appar¬ 
ent to Merton, sufficiently attests his doubts as to the re¬ 
vealed nature of Christianity, and his distrust toward 
church and clergy. 

Merton had read very extensively on the history of the 
Christian church, carefully reading all of the more cele¬ 
brated works written on the subject in the English language; 
and his conclusions were such that, in a letter to the bishop, 
he said: ‘‘If a man wishes to arrive at infidelity, the shortest 
and best road is to make himself thoroughly acquainted 
with the history of the church.” Merton was sure that no 
persons had shown such unwavering hatred, such ma¬ 
liciousness, such cunning and guile, such baseness and 
treachery, such revengeful and murderous spirit, as had 
the priests and bishops of the church. When the Hussite 
Reformers were at war with the papists, they burnt priests 
and monks in pitch, and put to the sword whole districts, 
with the exception of a few women and children; while, on 
the other hand, the murderous hatred of the papal party 
carried them to such atrocity, that they even bought their 
enemies at so much a head, afterwards to put them to a 
most cruel death. Terrible as this strife was, it is not in¬ 
aptly characteristic of priestly wars in general. Merton was 
certain that while theoretically a philanthropic body, prac¬ 
tically the church had never hesitated to use, whenever it 


tAW AND KCCDSSIASTICISM. 


293 


had deemed its interests at stake, all the power it could com¬ 
mand, by fair means or foul, to persecute its enemies, bind 
mankind with its shackles, and force upon them its de¬ 
crees, however detrimental to the welfare of humanity 
in general. He wondered not that Henry II, who 
initiated the rule of law in England, to whom may be traced 
the court of King’s Bench, the equitable jurisdiction of the 
chancellor, and trial by jury, who was one of the ablest and 
most efficient monarchs that ever lived, and whose friend¬ 
ship was sought by the contemporary sovereigns at any 
price, should die cursing the whole order of ecclesiastics. 
Merton saw clearly enough that wherever the priest had 
had the highest political power, there the welfare of the 
nation had always been at the lowest point. Well and 
truly does Goethe say: 

'■'•Aber Leib und Gebein ist nicht zum Besten vcrxvahret, 

Wenn die geistliche Hand der 'weltlichen Zuegel sick anmasst — 
Life and limb are never best protected, when the priestly 
power has the reins of government.” 

(Hermann and Dorothea vi. 300.) 


CHAPTER XXX. 

ONE GOD ONE HUMANITY. 


Nunqua?n igitur laudari satis digue philosophia poterit — 

Never therefore will philosophy be able to be sufficiently worthily 
praised. ( Cicero ) 

pHILOSOPHY is the love ot wisdom, the knowledge of 
^ things as they really are, or the search after causes. It 
is the highest of all studies, it alone using all the others, 
and unifying them. To prosecute succesfully the study of 
philosophy, the mind must be eminently free from bias, 
and thoroughly equipped with knowledge. Not all whcf 
have sufficient information, are thereby qualified to teach 
philosophy; for they may be unable to cast off their pre¬ 
judices, or rid themselves of some obnoxious growths, the 
results of seeds sown in days gone by. Nor are all who 
are free from bias, competent to teach philosophy; because 
they may not have sufficient information. To the dis¬ 
grace of many of our so-called universities, men are often 
found on their faculties, teaching philosophy, who have 
neither the requisite, general information, nor the years 
which alone bring fully developed and settled minds. None 
is qualified to teach philosophy, who has not years, ex¬ 
perience, an unbiassed mind, and vast imformation. 

It is universally admitted that a greater philosopher 
than Aristotle has never lived; and Plato is as beautiful, 
poetical, and religious, as Aristotle is great. It was Plato 
who spoke as but few men ever spoke, and perhaps with 
wisdom equal to that of any, on the mysterious problems 
of life and death. Who sets forth in more glowing terms 
than these philosophers the value of justice and wisdom, 
or the danger of injustice and ignorance? Who among the 
world’s prophets has given us a higher conception of God? 


ONE GOD ONE HUMANITY. 


295 


who, a higher conception of man? He who would answer 
these questions truthfully, or not at all, will, in my opin¬ 
ion, keep silence, if he wishes not to disturb the belief that 
truth and righteousness were first made known by Jesus 
Christ. For who could believe this, after hearing Plato say: 

“ Sib Kal t a p.eya\a ap-apT^piara kc.\ aSiK'fjpiaTa <xp.iKpbrepov 
eivai XPV vopil^eiv Kanbv Traaxeiv, Spacrai. 

“ Our’ &p avraSiKeiv Set ovre ko.ku>s avrnroieiv ovStva avOpwircav, 
oi>S civ otlovv iraaxv far’ avr&v. 

“ Kal deois &pa ix^pos e<rrai 6 &8ikos , 6 St SUaios <f>i\os. 

“0 vk &pa TravTwv ye atnov tS ayadbv, aWb. tCjv p.ev ev exbvruv 
alrfov, tQv Se KaK&v avairLov. 

“Therefore, to suffer the greatest evils and injustice, 
must be considered a less evil than to do them. 

“It is not right to return to man injustice for injustice, 
nor to do him evil for evil, no matter what one may suffer 
from their hands. 

“And to God the unjust man is hateful, while the just 
man is dear to Him. 

“Nor is the Good (God) the cause of all things, but of 
the good only,andnotof the evil.” (Epis. vii; Crito x. 14, 
16; Civitas 1. 352; 11. 379.) 

Again,in his Civitas (1. 351) ,he tells us that no state can 
continue to exist without justice; and in his Apology 
( xxi, xxix) ,he says that evil is much more to be feared than 
death, as death can not possibly bring the good man any 
harm, since it must bring him either an eternal sleep, or 
introduce him to a better life. 

As Merton became more fully acquainted with the works 
of Plato and Aristotle, he felt more and more offended at the 
shameful injustice done these great and noble teachers by 
Christian ministers of all ages. If the very essence of jus¬ 
tice consists in the giving to each his own, surely the aver¬ 
age Christian minister has none too much of this virtue. 
Sunday after Sunday is Christ quoted as the author of say- 


2g6 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


ings and teachings which had been said and taught ages be¬ 
fore he came into the world. What a discovery is this to the 
sincere and thoughtful soul who hitherto has imagined that 
the world was in gross darkness prior to the coming of 
Christ! Such sayings and teachings quoted in proof of 
Christ’s divinity, lose all their value, for this purpose, when 
it becomes known that the same, or similar, were taught by 
teachers who had long preceded him. The more Merton 
studied the ancient philosophers, the less did he find it 
necessary to refer the moral principles of the New Testa¬ 
ment to Christ as their real author; and the same may be 
said of all,or nearly all, its more distinctively religious prin¬ 
ciples. As he listened, he heard older voices than that of 
John the Baptist, crying “Repent ye, for the kingdom of 
heaven is at hand;’’ and older voices than that of Jesus, 
saying: “Fear not little flock, for it is your Father’s good 
pleasure to give you the kingdom.’’ 

The just man can not take from a more ancient author 
.what is really his, and attribute it to Christ; nor could 
Christ, as a good and just man, be pleased at such robbery. 
But however much Christ would be offended at the act, the 
Christian priest still goes on, refusing to grant unto Caesar, 
in his poverty, what is evidently his, although it be but to 
add a denarius to the store of a reputedly infinite being. 

While I have here referred exclusively to ancient philo¬ 
sophers, it must not be understood thereby that I lightly 
regard the great benefits resulting from the spread of con¬ 
temporary science; on the contrary, I see in very many of 
these philosophers great saviors of humanity;and in modern 
scientific discoveries, such blessings as the ancients might 
have longed to possess, and longed in vain. But I have re¬ 
ferred exclusively to ancient thinkers, lest the reader should 
suppose that those to whom reference has been made,might 
have been affected by Christian teachings or sentiments. 


ONE GOD ONE HUMANITY. 297 

No candid person can suppose that Aristotle who died 
three-hundred and twenty-two years before Christ was born, 
could have been influenced by Christian teaching , and his 
writings are a gospel in themselves. Still further removed 
from all Christian influences was Plato, Aristotle’s teacher, 
who left the world three-hundred and forty-seven years be¬ 
fore Christ came into it ; and many a gospel might be taken 
from the writings of this noble man, and not a little of the 
Christian gospels is contained therein. Contemporary 
philosophers have many advantages over their ancient 
brethren ; nevertheless, in beauty of diction, sublimity of 
thought, reverence of mind, and moral worth, the ancients 
have never been, and are not likely to be, surpassed. What 
they did, they did well. We are told that the great Lord 
Burleigh always carried, in his breast-pocket, Aristotle’s 
Rhetoric and Cicero’s de Officiis, and that he thought these 
two works sufficient “ to make both a scholar and an honest 
man.” In some respects, however, the ancient philosophers 
had advantages over their modern brethren. In their days 
the scholar was more highly respected, and much less em¬ 
barrassed with the cares of a life whose demands seem to 
increase, as the years roll on. Nevertheless, he who would 
find a prophet, or a preacher of righteousness, or “ the voice 
of one crying in the wilderness,” can readily do so in the 
great and noble thinkers of the present age. It is true, the 
work of some has been in general antagonistic to prevailing 
thought, and, therefore, so-called destructive ; but it should 
not be forgotten, that it may be much wiser to tear down a 
structure, and build anew on its foundation, or on a firmer 
one, than to repair it. Moreover, the blows these so-called 
destructionists have struck, have been aimed at images false 
to the reality, at ideas the product of over-wrought imagi¬ 
nation, at doctrines and dogmas not founded in truths To 
such destructionists the good and true man can only wish 


298 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


long life and success, in their effort to break down the 
images “set up in every high hill, and under every green 
tree.” But, besides such writers, the past century has wit¬ 
nessed many a constructive worker giving to the world gos¬ 
pels purified from the filth of superstition, and cleansed 
from the foul impurities of priestly influence. Let honor 
be given these voices of God, for the gospel they preach, 
and the light they shed on our path; but it should not be 
supposed that the distructionist is less honorable than the 
constructionist; for the former goes before, and clears the 
way, to make straight the path of the latter. They are both 
great powers of God; they are both his servants sent forth 
with a message to a world boasting of its light, but groping 
in gross darkness; and they each alike help to bring about 
the day when all men shall see the glory of God, in the ele¬ 
vation of the race; when all nations shall be recognized as 
God’s chosen people, and not the Jews and Christians only; 
when the road to heaven shall be as broad as the pulsating 
heart of humanity, beating after its God; when the possi¬ 
bility of progress shall be declared as continuing as long as 
God and creation exist. That day is fast approaching; and 
when it comes, much of the joys of heaven will be experi¬ 
enced on earth, much of the lamentations of hell be hushed 
forever. The more Merton contemplated the work of the 
great and good of old, the more was he offended at a doc¬ 
trine that regards them as outside the pale of God’s elect; 
and the more he regarded the purity of their lives, and 
their love for truth, the less he felt inclined to preach 
a doctrine which, while it opens wide the Father’s 
arms to the Christian prodigal, declares even the noblest 
heathen to be in danger of eternal damnation. In 
those thoughtful days, the sense of the oneness of 
humanity was so strong in Merton, that he could not 
doubt that the love wherewith the Father loved him, was 
equally extended to all his brother-men. Even the thought 


ONE GOD ONE HUMANITY. 


299 


that God might elect the one, and pass over the other, 
would give him pain. He saw on earth one great object 
of God’s care,humanity; he saw in the spirit-world one ob¬ 
ject of human prayer and praise, God. Whether they call 
Him Jahve or Jove, Deus or Zeus, El or Allah, Woden or 
Manito, Brahm or the Spirit, Gott or the Good; whether 
they worship Him in costly temples, with priests decked 
with gold and precious stones, or amidst stately trees, use- 
ing the blue, arched roof of heaven as their temple’s top; 
whether in deep humility, with ashes upon their head, or 
with self-inflicted lacerations,—to Merton it was evident 
that in all cases the intent of the soul is the same—the 
worship of Him who, under however many names or 
forms He may be known or conceived, is recognized by 
all as the Life, Strength, Lord, Saviour, and Father of 
men. Knowing these things Merton was loath to resume 
a work, from the doing of which it would be necessarily 
inferred, that either silently or openly he admitted that 
outside the Christian church, there is no known hope of 
salvation. But through the persuasive voice of his wife, 
and the hope that he might be allowed to preach a wider 
faith, Merton resumed the work of a Christian priest, after 
having passed some years in the study of law and phil¬ 
osophy, and eight months regaining his health, on the 
western prairies. Said he: “Perhaps the Lord is calling 
me. I will spread my sails, and yield to the wind that 
drives me; perchance I may carry a precious cargo to feed 
the hungry, and cloth the naked; and finally, when my 
voyage is over, find some haven of rest. Thou, Lord, 
seest me. I will go trusting Thou has sent me, and ready 
to do thy will.” Nevertheless, a thousand doubts and 
fears filled his breast. He could not help remembering a 
little book he had read in his boyhood, the “Heavenly Foot¬ 
man.” But it seemed that, instead of having two spirits, 
an evil and a good one, he had a thousand, all striving to 
make him do their bidding. But as in mechanics a body 


3 °° 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL,. 


can move but in one direction, though acted upon by a 
thousand forces, so with Merton; the resultant of all his 
spiritual forces sent him back to the pulpit. But anxious 
as he was to do the will of him who sends every man into 
the world, Merton yet felt a pain at the thought of resum¬ 
ing pulpit work. Now he was conscious of a freedom for 
which he had often longed. The broadness of the prairie, 
the clearness of the sky, the brightness of the sun and stars, 
the vividness of the lightning, the pealing of the thunder, 
the roaring of the wind, were all calculated to inspire 
independence of spirit and freedom of action. As he look¬ 
ed'over the vast and rolling plains, he would think of the 
broadness of God’s creation, and the narrowness of his 
creed, which man had created; and often would determine 
to rid himself of the shackles which bound him, and escape 
from the slave-master’s coils. The thought that he was 
free from bishops’ dictation, gave him a peculiar satis¬ 
faction. Should death there overtake him, it would find 
him ready; and the earth that would receive him, was 
dearer than consecrated ground. No funeral dirge would 
have been said over his body; no hollow, priestly prayers 
would have been given to the wind. As he would have 
died in peace, so without sham or pretense would he have 
been given to the earth to await his lot. Having resumed 
his work, Merton, one morning after preaching a mission¬ 
ary sermon, was thus addressed by his wife: 

“Harry, why are you so much troubled?” 

“I am troubled,” he answered “at the thought of the 
disagreement of my mind with the teachings of the church 
at whose altar I serve. Much found within her walls is 
very dear to me; and she is the most tolerant of orthodox 
churches. But when I think of the dogmas to which, as a 
minister, it is presumed I subscribe, and know that in my 
soul I can not believe them, I am tossed by the wild 
conflicts within, as & boat in a tempest. One of the most 
painful things I ever had to do, was to preach that 


ONE GOD ONE HUMANITY. 


301 


sermon on missions, and take the offertory for the general 
missionary society. By such act it is, and ought to be, 
understood that I believe in missions. The foundation of 
all missionary work is, that out of Christ all nations are in 
a lost and hopeless state; or, at least, that without faith in 
Christ as their Redeemer and God, there is no known salva¬ 
tion for any people. You know I do not believe that the 
so-called heathen nations are lost, or that they are without 
a known salvation, any more than we are. I have often 
told you I have no doubt that the honest and faithful Brahmin, 
Buddhist, or Mohammedan, is a child of God, and heir to a 
better life after death, in the same sense, and with the same 
right, as I am. If there is any use in missionary labor, it 
consists only in the possibility of giving the uncivilized na¬ 
tions of the world a higher form of life. It is not needed 
to bring them into a state of salvation ; for in that state 
every child of man is, and always has been. If I believed 
otherwise, I should have to say, ‘ Poor God ! What can be 
done for him ! The happiness of himself and his children 
is wholly dependent on the good-will and activity of the 
missionary society.’ All nations have, as they believe, their 
redeemers, their divine mediators, and holy revelations; and 
this is all we can say for ourselves. We believe certain 
things which distinguish us as Christians; but of those same 
things, we can prove absolutely nothing. In such belief I 
can put no real confidence. On this one thing I wholly 
rely: the universal fatherhood of God: God dwells in all 
things, in all men; and He is reflected by each man as man’s 
mind is polished with intelligence, and his heart with 
purity. All men receive Him in some measure; of this we 
are sufficiently certain from our knowledge of the religious 
nature of universal man. The fact that man is a religious 
being, is proof enough that God is equally mindful of all. 
But apart from this, I am sure that a just and good God 


3°2 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUR. 


must be equally mindful of all his children. The various 
nations of the world may dwell in different rooms, but they 
all dwell in their Father’s house, and feel his divine presence; 
or, we might say, the various children of the one Father 
may attend different classes in the same school, but all have 
the same wise Superintendent, and all pass from a lower to 
a higher grade, having at the same time, no matter what 
grade they may chance be in, the guidance and smile of the 
one great Teacher who careth alike for all. I do not believe 
that the nations without Christ are lost; nor do I believe 
in wasting money and many lives in forcing on a na¬ 
tion a form of religion not adapted to their peculiar nat¬ 
ure; for our religion is no more agreeable to their nature, 
than our climate is to their vegetation.” 

“It would be hard for me to differ with you who have 
been my guide and teacher. With your own hands did you 
baptize me, and under your instructions and ministry was I 
confirmed. Most of the information I possess, I have 
derived from you. But concerning the matters of which 
you speak, I have thought the same nearly all my life, as 
you think now. I never could see, why a just and merciful 
God could let his light shine on one mere corner, and let 
the rest of the earth remain in outer darkness, only to curse 
it for not having his light. Nor have I ever understood, 
why a good and just God could rightfully blame any man 
for not receiving a new religion, when he is satisfied of the 
truth of his own; nor why He could rightfully blame a man 
who, finding no reasons according to his own honest con¬ 
victions, for the acceptation of Christ as God, refuses to 
believe in his divinity, but lives a pure and noble life. For 
my own part, I believe that every one who satisfies his own 
conscience in such matters, or, in other words, lives as he 
thinks he should, will go to heaven after death. God gives 
all his children such teachers as they need, and such light 


ONE GOD ONE HUMANITY. 


303 


as their eyes are best prepared to receive. To us he has 
given Christ, and the light of his blessed gospel. As a fol¬ 
lower of Christ, I hope I may be worthy of my many privi¬ 
leges; but nothing can make me believe that God has any 
favorites. I believe the heathens call God ‘ Father ; ’ and I 
doubt not that they have the same right to do so, as I have. 
Harry, if I were you, I would not trouble myself so much 
about it. Every one knows how good and noble you are. 
A pure life is worth ever so much theology. Let that com¬ 
fort you ; and let theology alone.” 

“ My darling wife, what you ask is an impossibility. It 
is as impossible for me to live without thinking, as with¬ 
out eating; and this ceaseless thought it is, which makes my 
life a martyrdom. Every honest minister must feel that he 
is necessarily bound by the theology of the church to which 
he belongs, as a prisoner is bound by his chains. The lat¬ 
ter, as he tries hard to break away from his shackles, soon 
finds the iron cutting through to his flesh; and the former, 
as he tries to preach a reasonable doctrine, soon finds his 
church dogmas cutting through to his soul. If the theology 
of the church were as much like God as I believe you are, 
Mabel, then I could gladly receive it; but your principles do 
not agree with the dogmas of the church; nor is your 
theology that of the church to which you belong. The truth 
is, that should the dogmas of the church get into your heart, 
you would drive them out as you would a rattle-snake from 
your bed-room.” 

■ “ I know my information is nothing when compared to 
yours, Harry. I suppose this is the reason that I don’t 
trouble myself about these matters, as you do. I am glad I 
have the comfort of my religion; I am glad I love the 
blessed Jesus. But I am also glad I believe the people of 
heathen countries, who do the best they know how, are 
children of God, and go to heaven after death.” 


304 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUR. 


“ I do not believe in eternal damnation, Sunshine, nor 
in the infallibility of the Scriptures; I do not believe in the 
vicarious atonement of Christ; I do not believe in a literal 
resurrection of the dead; I do not believe that any man, 
civilized or uncivilized, who lives, as he believes, an hon¬ 
orable and just life, will be damned; I do not believe that 
nations without the knowledge of Christ, are in a lost con¬ 
dition; I doubt that a direct revelation has ever been made 
from God to man; I doubt the bible which is exponential of 
the Christian religion, is, in any real sense, any more divine 
than the many other bibles which are exponential of the 
other great religions of the world; I doubt that the method 
by which man was first brought into being, was, in nature, 
different from that by which other animals were first 
brought into being,—that is, I doubt that man was specially 
created; I doubt very much that Jesus Christ was ever born, 
in a real sense, of a virgin,—that is I am inclined to believe 
he had a father and mother, as I myself had; I doubt that a 
miracle has ever been performed; I doubt that the future 
state is fixed and unalterable; I doubt a localized heaven; I 
doubt a localized hell; I doubt the existence of a personal 
devil. I could add more, but you have surely heard 
enough." 

“ Well, Harry, I do not know; but I suspect other schol¬ 
arly ministers, if the truth were known, have about the same 
belief in regard to these things as yourself; but you must do 
what you think best. Mabel knows you will do what is 
right; and I am perfectly satisfied that God will never for¬ 
sake you nor blame you for being honest to your own con¬ 
victions of duty and truth." 

“ As to scholarly ministers, Mabel, they are few and far 
between. Our ministers are first-class' at smoking cigars, 
and drinking wine; but as to any real thought, I assure you, 
they rarely descend below the surface of things. That God 


ONE GOD ONE HUMANITY. 


305 


wiH forsake me, my darling, I can not for a moment think. 
I love Him, hunger and thirst for Him; and I pray with my 
whole soul, that I may never stray from the path wherein He 
would have me walk.” 

“ Harry, is there any church whose principles you fully 
believe; any denomination whose teachings you wholly and 
unreservedly accept ?” 

“ I do not know that there is, Mabel. My belief might 
be called simple theism, which is, and always has been, the 
religious faith of the most learned of every age. Of this 
statement I am certain enough. There are, it is true, many 
pretty pictures in our orthodox churches, which are very 
pleasing to the eyes of the many who worship there; but I 
assure you,- it never has been proved that those pictures, 
however pleasing, ever had a real existence outside of the 
diseased or superstitious brain which originated them. I con¬ 
sider any and every religious principle not sanctioned by sim¬ 
ple theism, to say the least, doubtful. Orthodoxy is a charm¬ 
ing name; but when examined by the critical mind, it appears 
equivalent to the will of the party in power, whose interest 
it always is to enforce that will by every possible sanction. 
When I think of orthodoxy, I imagine a cow standing be¬ 
fore me. The tail goes where the cow wills it; and ortho¬ 
doxy has depended on the emperor’s wish. I will here give 
you an example of this: 

“ ‘ We, the three emperors, will that all our subjects 
follow the religion taught by St. Peter to the Romans, pro¬ 
fessed by those saintly prelates, Damascus, pontiff of Rome, 
and Peter, bishop of Alexandria, that we believe the one 
divinity of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, of majesty co¬ 
equal, in the Holy Trinity. We will that all those who 
embrace this creed, be called catholic Christians; we brand 
all the senseless followers of other religions by the infamous 
name of heretics, and forbid their conventicles to assume 


3°6 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUT. 


the name of churches; we reserve their punishment to the 
vengeance of heaven, and to such measures as divine in¬ 
spiration shall dictate to us.’ 

“This, Mabel, is the edict of Gratian, Valentinian II, and 
Theodosius, emperors of Rome, A. D. 380. Commenting 
on this edict, Dean Milman says, in his history of Christian¬ 
ity, * Thus the religion of the whole Roman world was 
enacted by two feeble boys and a rude Spanish soldier.’ It 
is certain, Mabel, that from the legislatures of the different 
countries, not a little of the prestige of the church has been 
derived. I remember myself when no one ever thought of 
calling the sectarian meeting-houses in England by the 
name of ‘churches.’ That name was exclusively applied to 
the Church of England, whose ministers were better known 
for their indolence, and fox-hunting tendencies, than for 
any spiritual power they may have possessed. Bishops 
and priests, more especially the former, have been more 
noted as warriors, and for laxity in life, than for their power 
of healing sin-sick souls. Says Lecky : ‘ In looking back, 
with our present experience, we are driven to the melancholy 
conclusion that, instead of diminishing the number of wars, 
ecclesiastical influence has actually and very seriously in¬ 
creased it.’ He who really knows the history of orthodoxy, 
can be but little moved by its pretensions. I do not say, 
Mabel, that I have no faith at all in some of the dogmas 
peculiarly characteristic of orthodoxy; but I must say I 
have doubt concerning them. And it is because of these 
doubts that I wish to take a rest to ease my mind of the 
many disturbing forces which now so greatly agitate it.” 

“Your Mabel is greatly troubled for your sake, Harry. 
I do wish I could help you to clearly determine what you 
should do. We may at least both pray that God may lead 
you to decide for the best.” 

“ Though faith in most of my childhood beliefs grows 


ONF GOD ONE HUMANITY. 


307 


weaker every day, Mabel, my faith in prayer, weakens not. 
To God as to a father I am constantly carrying my doubts 
and fears, and as constantly expecting from Him a solution. 
Between my desire to be true to the church, and my desire 
to be true to my own convictions, there is an irrepressible 
strife which makes even existence itself almost unbearable. 
In solving the questions which produce this strife, I wish to 
act slowly, but deliberately. I feel shut up as it were in a 
hollow sphere, as I was in my dream ; and as then, so now, 
not able to liberate myself, I confidently expect that God 
will make an exit. Of one thing I am sure,—I wish the will 
of God done in me ; for it is most reasonable to believe that 
a man had better a thousand times die, than live in opposi¬ 
tion to his true and only real life ; and God, in my opinion, 
is the true life of the human soul, apart from which it can 
but wither and die, as the tree must die, if up-rooted from 
its parent soil.” 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

A priest and a physician on ECCEESIASTICISM. 

Vulgus ex veritate pauca, ex opinio ne mult a cestimat — 

The uneducated judges little from truth, much from sentiment. 

{Cicero.') 

jyjERTON had now given the highest proofs of his 
scholarship, having passed examinations, in leading 
universities, for no less than five degrees, the last exam¬ 
ination having been for the degree of Doctor of Laws. He 
had found no difficulty in completing the studies leading 
to all of these degrees. Study was to him his great delight. 
He loved it for the sake of itself, but more especially as the 
means whereby he might either substantiate or disprove 
the faith of his childhood. He wanted the truth; for he 
knew well, as the blessed Christ says, that this only could 
make him free. After all his years of study and excessive 
labor, Merton found that his faith in exclusively Christian 
dogmas was wholly undermined, that his belief was un¬ 
tenable; but at the same time that his faith in God had taken 
deeper root. God alone was his hiding-place; and in that 
refuge of the tempest-tossed soul, Merton found security 
and rest. 

It was while thinking on how great the change was 
that had passed over his belief, since the time he had knelt 
with his father in prayer, that Merton was visited by his 
friend, the learned Quaker physician. 

‘‘Well,my friend, ’ ’ he began, “I see I find you musing. 
I have thought much about you,since hearing your sermon 
of last Sunday: I really felt deeply for you, knowing the 
conflict raging within. You once told me that the pulpit 
was the best field for an able man; and I denied that 

308 


A PRIEST and a physician. 309 

it is. On the contrary, it is fitting such a mind as you speak 
of, only as a place to go to sleep in. When I see an able 
man in the pulpit, l pity him ; when I hear him preach, I 
partly feel the lash that is held over him ; and when I hear 
him repeat the creed, I know his words assert one thing, 
while in his heart he believes another. But he is led from 
fear of the lash and its consequences, like a lamb to the 
slaughter. On the other hand, when I see one of your 
average idiots dosing a congregation with, ‘thus saith the 
Lord,’ and ‘ thus saith the church, ’ I feel as a part of nat¬ 
ure so greatly offended at his almost blasphemous nonsense, 
that I curse myself for a fool for coming where priests are 
known to rave. If the average preacher could be only made 
to know with what indifference or contempt the man sitting 
in the seat before him, receives his thunderings, I feel con¬ 
fident that he would be ashamed thereafter to manufacture 
his lightnings again.’* 

“ I can not but sympathize with you, doctor, in your 
righteous indignation. I well remember hearing such ser¬ 
mons myself, and how they filled my very soul with contempt 
for those who preached them. It was certain that the 
preacher I listened to, was either educated or not educated. 
If educated, I could not believe that his head admitted the 
truth of his lips, and I therefore had a contempt for him be¬ 
cause of his insincerity, and lack of manhood ; if uneducated, 
I could not think that he rightfully or worthily filled the 
position he held, and I therefore had a contempt for him be¬ 
cause of his conceit and audacious pretension. It was a 
cruel thing for me in those days to hear such sermons ; for 
it really seemed a foretaste of the hell the preacher spoke of. 
I was certain that the character of the God I worshipped, 
did not agree with that of the being the preacher declared ; 
that, therefore, in a true sense, one of us had no God at all, 
was in fact an atheist ; for since God is one, He can not be 


3io 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


apprehended by two persons who have contradictory notions 
concerning Him. It is true I went to church generally, and 
sat good-manneredly in my seat; but ten thousand needles 
and pins seemed to prick me, frequently turning the place 
of worship into one of martyrdom for me.” 

“ We have all had such feelings, Mr. Merton. In these 
days, however, I rarely go to church, and therefore rarely 
expose myself to the martyrdom you speak of. I have 
noticed that the more ignorant the preacher, the more cer¬ 
tain he is concerning those matters which nobody knows 
anything about; also the more groundless the dogma 
asserted, the more vehement is the preacher in insisting on 
its truth. When the foremost of the age turn their backs 
on a dogma as contradicted by the known facts of science, 
and the deliverance of the reason, it is then that the 
preacher rages, and u-tters his maledictions against the un¬ 
godly speculations of science. The higher reason lifts her 
head beyond the mists of superstition into the clear light of 
heaven, discovering the filth of priestly rags, the higher the 
preacher rises in his holy indignation, and, striking the 
desk in his rage, with one blow knocks the Humboldts and 
Darwins and Huxleys into hades. If I had any faith in 
the miracles of the New Testament, and wished to see a 
person possessed of the devil, as I go to a hospital to look 
for a sick man, so should I go to a church pulpit to look for 
a man possessed. What a logomachy the pulpit is ! One 
■insists on immersion, the other laughs at it; one insists on 
baptismal regeneration, the other scouts the idea; the Epis¬ 
copalian denies the validity of the orders of the other great 
Protestant bodies, claiming that no man can rightfully and 
authoritatively perform the functions of a minister, unless 
he has received ordination from the hands of a bishop, and 
they wink at his claims. Finally the Roman Catholic denies 
the ministerial authority of any and all, unless received 





A PRIEST AND A PHYSICIAN. 311 

fiom a bishop in communion with the Pope of Rome; and 
even asserts the hopeless state of all who are not within the 
pale of the holy Church of Rome. At this a howl is heard 
from the Episcopalian officers, seeing their lines threatened 
with confusion, their generalship being held up to the 
ridicule of their enemies. What a great body of truth the 
church possesses! There never was such a many-headed, 
dubious monster speaking great things in a language 
which nobody understands. I am glad that the day of the 
church is passing, and that of reason coming. Ring out 
the old; ring in the new.” 

“The day of the church that is, my dear doctor”, 
said Merton, “is most surely passing away; but like all 
other days of darkness, it must be followed by a time of 
preparation, before a brighter dawn. Note the long night 
that intervened between the passing away of the ancient 
cults and the establishment of a more agreeable faith. Faith¬ 
ful ones thought that their gods had forsaken them; that 
even Jove would nod his mighty head no more forever; that 
the night which had fallen upon them, would be one of 
eternal darkness. At last day broke, bringing with its rose¬ 
ate beams a religion more advanced, more adapted to the 
then existing civilization. A religion fitted for the present, 
becomes a superstition to those that shall follow. But super¬ 
stitions die hard. They have their organizations,their drill¬ 
ed officers, their priests and ministers, their functionaries, 
all most vitally interested; these do not yield in a day. You 
must not expect a too early ringing out of the things that 
are, and a ringing in of the things that are to be.” 

“I wait patiently, ’ ’ replied the doctor; ‘ ‘but in the mean 
time I do my part toffiasten in that glorious day, by acting 
an honest part, in joining the ranks of those who turn to¬ 
ward the light,and leaving the hosts of those who, for fear 
or favor, shroud themselves in darkness.” 

“Some may really believe, doctor, what they preach; 


3 12 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUR. 


but such men are peculiarly constituted, being never given 
to examine seriously the principles of their faith. As in¬ 
fants eat, so they believe. The mother puts her infant to 
her breast, and it imbibes, whether the fluid be fit for food 
or not; thus with such men, they believe, without question, 
whatever they have received, and even seem happy and sat¬ 
isfied. But that a faith makes a man happy, is no sufficient 
reason for holding or adopting it. A man might have all 
confidence in his ship, although, unknown to him, she may 
be fast filling with water. As a rule, the faithful followers 
of any religion are contented and happy. I can assure you 
that the degree of happiness a religion may give a man, has 
nothing to do with its truth or falsity. But although I have 
known some ministers whose sincerity and truthfulness I 
have had no reason to doubt, I have known many more who 
were insincere and untruthful. Such ministers have spoken 
to me of their doubts concerning Christ’s divinity, who yet 
in their sermons never breathe such doubts; have denied to 
me the Trinity, and afterwards in the pulpit affirmed their 
faith in it; have denied to me the personality of the devil, 
and afterwards before their people asserted their belief in it; 
denied eternal punishment, and in their public utterances 
affirmed it; denied the inspiration of the Scriptures, and on 
the very next Sunday affirmed their faith in it. All this I 
have known them to do; and the only excuse they give, is 
that a man should not give utterance in the pulpit to his pri¬ 
vate opinions. I tell you, doctor, I am sick of the insincer¬ 
ity and hypocrisy that I have witnessed among ministers. 
Some good and noble men there are ; but, as I have said, I 
do not believe that the average minister is, in the true sense, 
a good and noble man.” 

“ I have seen enough, indeed, to assure me that ministers, 
like others, are in general moved by a short-sighted selfish- 


* 


A PRIEST AND A PHYSICIAN. 313 

ness which teaches, that the welfare of the body is more 
than that of the soul.” 

“And what good, indeed, do you suppose I could get by 
going to church? Suppose the minister be a good man; 
what then? He believes that his faith is true; I am satis¬ 
fied that it is seriously to be questioned. What help or con¬ 
solation could I receive from such a man ? I answer, I 
could receive none whatever, but rather irritation. The 
justice and greatness of his god, is the injustice and little¬ 
ness of mine. The blood of Calvary has a sweet-smelling 
savor to him; to me it represents an intentional and wilful 
homicide. The immaculate conception, the deity of Christ, 
vicarious atonement, the doctrine of election, eternal bless¬ 
edness, eternal damnation, the call of Abraham, the resurrec¬ 
tion of the body, the choice by God of the Jews and Chris¬ 
tians, apostolic succession,— these are some of the beliefs 
which give him comfort; but these same beliefs cause me 
pain and disgust — they are an offence to me. If you ask 
me to believe in the immaculate conception, I am offended: 
you might as well ask me to walk on my head. In the latter 
case I would answer, it is not the natural mode of locomo¬ 
tion ; in the former case I would answer, it is not a natural 
explanation. If you ask me to believe in the elect charac¬ 
ter of the Jews and Christians, I am disgusted and offended; 
you might as well ask me to believe that God is unjust and 
wicked. If you ask me to believe in vicarious atonement, 
eternal damnation, or the resurrection of the body, you ask 
what a reasonable man can not do: you might as well ask me 
to believe that there are more gods than one, or that the one 
God is self-contradictory. No, indeed, I am gone further 
than ever from such beliefs. I can not believe anything of 
God, which is contradicted by his visible works; I can not 
believe anything of the works of God, which is contradicted 
by every-day experience. Talking a few days ago with one 


3H 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL,. 


of our ablest judges the other day, he said, “The fact is, 
my friend, the dogmas of the Christian church are absurd. 
It is my belief that in a few years they will be universally 
rejected. They are an insult to the thinking mind. Had 
it not been for the strenuous efforts of the parties inter¬ 
ested, and the credulity of the ignorant, they would pass 
away in a generation. I believe, Merton, in one God who 
is the Father of all. This God has no elect. All religions 
come from him, as all warmth comes from the same sun. 
But as the sun’s heat, although scattered equally in all 
directions, is not equally felt in all places, depending on our 
nearness to the sUn, and the absence of intervening sub¬ 
stances; so God’s revelation of himself, though given to all 
and everywhere alike, is not equally felt, nor in the same 
manner expressed, by all, this depending on the character 
of the man, and his degree of cultivation. But all religions 
come from God; and all do good, in their time and place. 
The coarse and bloody religion is adapted to the coarse 
and bloody man. He who conceives of God as having hu¬ 
man characteristics, will have such a religion as his own 
mind might be the author of. But as all flowers will not 
grow in the same soil, so such low, gross, and bloody con¬ 
ceptions of the Deity can find no acceptation with me. 
We all see with our own eyes; we all think with our own 
minds; and the ability to think correctly depends, of course, 
on the character and amount of our education. I am per¬ 
fectly satisfied that neither the confidence a person has in 
his faith, nor the degree of happiness he derives from it, 
has anything to do with its truth or falsity. It is certain 
that base actions, and false ideas often give us most happi¬ 
ness; while noble actions, and correct ideas frequently 
bring us pain. I believe with you that the only test of a 
religion is its reasonableness. A reasonable religion may be 
false, I’ll admit; but I am certain that an unreasonable one 


A PRIEST AND A PHYSICIAN. 


315 


can not be true. For it is evident that, if anything un¬ 
reasonable can come from God, He must remain unknow¬ 
able to us, since we have only our reason whereby to know 
Him. If some one says: ‘Not so; we have the Scriptures 
whereby to know Him.’ I might answer: ‘You receive the 
Scriptures only because you believe they are reasonable. ’ 
Thus there is no way to deny the fact, that reason remains 
the only power whereby we can know God; or that, if God 
be unreasonable, He must remain unknown to us. But 
since the Christian and most of the non-Christian world be¬ 
lieve that God is known, they must admit his reasonable 
character. Therefore I say, as you said last Sunday in 
your sermon, that although all religions have their root in 
God, the unreasonable parts of them have their roots in 
foolish-minded humanity only, and that such parts are 
therefore false, and should be rejected by the thinking 
mind.” 

“In my opinion, doctor,” replied Merton, “your con¬ 
clusions are valid. But let me beg you to remember that 
although there is a lot of chaff in so-called religion, there is 
also not a little wheat. I am sorry to say that our conver¬ 
sation must now end, as I have some parish duties to per¬ 
form.” 

Merton felt conscious that the words of the text of 
the sermon to which the doctor in his conversation had 
made reference, did not agree with his own belief, nor 
with the highest reason of the age. His views were daily 
broadening: he saw less and less of the miraculous; he 
was becoming more and more a child of nature. Yet, in 
the text referred to, he saw a beautiful truth conveyed, as 
it were, in a fairy tale. This truth he sought to appre¬ 
hend; and as he believed he apprehended it, he declared it 
to his people, not only to direct them in religious matters, 
but also to guide them into truth; for without the latter, 


316 FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 

the former becomes but baneful superstition. Truth may be 
possessed without religion; but religion can not be possessed 
without truth. In his study Merton was ever confronted 
with the growing contradictions between science and reli- 
gion;in his pulpit, bet ween those of reason and dogma. Min¬ 
isters and commentators he found bending the Old Testa¬ 
ment to suit the requirements of the New; and having suc¬ 
ceeded in this base work, bending the New to suit the 
exigencies of their respective creeds. Everywhere he cast 
his eyes, he beheld dogmas ready to break, and the eccle¬ 
siastics who were supported by them, patching them up. 
The inner-world,the reason,he saw at war with the outer- 
world, ecclesiastical dogma; and ecclesiastical dogmas, at 
war with one another. While the people of the parish 
were no better than others, no more honorable, dutiful, or 
charitable, he was still more troubled at knowing that the 
position he claimed, and the dogmas he asserted, could 
not be sustained with satisfactory credentials. The occur¬ 
rences he asserted in the creed were stupendous; but the 
evidence upon which they were based, were puerile,absurd. 
He clearly saw that to ask a man to accept the creed on 
the usual interpretation, is no less unreasonable than to 
expect him to infer that a mountain has been in labor, to 
explain the existence of the progeny of a mouse. The 
more he looked for proof of the occurrences asserted in the 
creed, the further he found himself from the object of his 
search. Whatever he sought to solve by a supernatural 
explanation, he readily saw was much more reasonably 
solved by a natural one. In his mind he beheld Reason 
carrying a key with which she unlocked the doors that led 
by labyrinthian ways to the dark hiding-places of ecclesi¬ 
astical dogmas. He saw her enter, and shed on their 
monstrous forms the blazing light of her own radiant 
countenance effulgent with light divine. As she approach- 


A PRIEST AND A PHYSICIAN. 


317 


ed, they cried: “What have we to do with thee? Art thou 
come hither to torment us before the time?” and, crouch¬ 
ing in their lairs, sought to conceal themselves in still 
deeper darkness; but at her look they were filled with 
consternation, and at her touch were paralyzed. One by 
one, by the might of her own arm, did she drag them 
forth, and decapitate them, hurling their lifeless forms into 
the outer-darkness of superstition, where they first had 
received their life. There those many-headed giants lay, 
without hope of a resurrection. The priests of the world 
went in mourning; but Liberty and Truth clothed them¬ 
selves in gorgeous apparel, singing: “Alleluia! for the 
Lord God Omnipotent reigneth.” 

With all his uncertainty and trembling, Merton yet 
hesitated to renounce his faith. He felt unwilling to 
grieve his friends. He knew that false as many of the 
dogmas were, he was yet accomplishing some good in the 
work he was doing; and he desired to search more fully 
into the foundations of his faith, before giving it up, lest 
too sudden action might bring him repentance: 

Lasst uns auch diesmal dock nur die Mittelstrasse betrcten! 

Eile mit Weile! das roar selbst Kaiser Augustus' Devise. 

( Goethe; Her. and Dor. 81.) 


CHAPTER XXXII. 


ON THE RESURRECTION. 


He that goeth down to the grave shall come up no more. 


{Job vii. 9) 


O him who faithfully studies the origin of Christianity, 



and the work and position of the early Christian 
church, it will be apparent that the beginnings of Christi¬ 
anity were laid in strife, and that strife was the common 
heritage of all those who in early days labored to spread 
the new doctrine. The words put by Matthew into the 
mouth of Christ: “I came not to send peace but a 
sword, ’ ’ were certainly verified in the development of the 
early church. Husbands and wives were estranged, 
parents and children separated, brotherly ties broken, and 
friends made enemies. Such results must have followed, 
and must always follow, the renunciation of one’s own 
religion for the sake of some new and untried faith. Fierce 
and long was the strife the teachers of the new religion wag¬ 
ed, and strong was the opposition brought to bear against 
them, before Christianity can be said to have felt secure 
in its position. This time of felt security did not come be¬ 
fore near the close of the second century. The great gen¬ 
eral, strategist, organizer, and dialectician, in this early 
strife, was Saul of Tarsus, or Paul. It is to this earnest, 
shrewd, and laborious worker that the Christian church 
owes a debt it can never pay; for without him it is doubt¬ 
ful if it could have held together, or even been established 
at all. As Prof. Pfleiderer of Berlin says, it was through 
Paul that Christianity became recognized as the universal, 
world religion; and this recognition was won only after a 
long and bitter strife with the Jewish body in the primitive 
church. 


the resurrection. 


3i9 


The dogmas of the early church were, as the dogmas 
of the church always will be, matters of contention; and 
among those that received, and must receive, the strong¬ 
est opposition, is that of the resurrection ol the dead. 

The early opposition to this dogma is evident enough 
from what is recorded in St. Mark, the most trust-worthy 
of all the gospels: “Then came unto him the Sadducees, 
which say there is no resurrection.” The Sadducees were 
a Jewish sect who held strictly and exclusively to the 
written Law. This written law, the Pentateuch, never 
mentions in any instance the doctrine of the resurrection of 
the dead. Not only does it not give a hope of a resurrec¬ 
tion, but one* may search its pages in vain fora single word 
teaching the immortality of the soul. If the great law¬ 
giver himself believed in a resurrection, or even in the 
immortality of the soul, it is certain that he has left us no 
evidence of such belief; and in the answer which Christ is 
said to have given the Sadducees, nothing can be found 
clearly to establish belief in the resurrection. If Moses 
had taught this doctrine,surely Christ must be supposed to 
have known it, and knowing it, it can not be doubted that 
he would have quoted the strongest text possible. But 
the words which Christ is said to have spoken, can hardly 
be construed as giving any strong hopes of the resurrection, 
or as strengthening to any great extent our faith in that 
doctrine. What Christ says is at most only an inference 
which one might make, provided it be granted that the 
doctrine in question be true. The question itself was left 
by Christ where the Sadducees affirmed it had always been 
and was, namely, among the many suppositions which 
man labors to establish, but labors in vain. 

That the infant church was at strife about this dogma, 
is evident enough from Paul’s words to the early Christi¬ 
ans: “How say some among you that there is no resur- 


3 20 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


rection of the dead. ’ ’ That the best educated considered 
such doctrine without warrant, is certain from the manner 
in which Paul was received by them: “Then certain phil¬ 
osophers of the Epicureans and of the Stoics encountered 
him. And some said, what will this babbler say? other 
some, He seems to be a setter forth of strange gods: be¬ 
cause he preached unto them Jesus and the resurrection. 
And as he thus spake, Festus said with aloud voice, Paul, 
thou art beside thyself; much learning doth make thee 
mad.” 

Disbelief in this dogma did not die through the efforts 
of Paul; for Clement, the first of the apostolic fathers, sup¬ 
posed to have been a disciple of Paul, found it necessary 
to strengthen the faith of his followers in the, doctrine of 
the resurrection. The proofs, however, which this good 
father adduced for it, were not unlike those the church 
fathers adduced for other beliefs. To establish this doc¬ 
trine Clement tells us that: “Day and night declare to us a 
resurrection. Eet us,” he says, “behold the fruits of the 
earth. The sower goes forth, and casts the seed into the 
ground; and the seed being thus scattered, though dry and 
naked when it fell upon the earth, is gradually dissolved. 
Then out of its dissolution the mighty power of the provi¬ 
dence of the Lord raises it up again, and from one seed 
many arise and bring forth fruit. There is a certain bird 
which is called a phoenix. This is the only one of the kind 
and lives for a hundred years. When the time of its dis¬ 
solution draws, near, it builds itself a nest of frankincense 
and myrrh, and other spices, into which it enters,and dies. 
But as the flesh decays a certain kind of worm is produced, 
which, being nourished by the juices of the dead bird, 
brings forth feathers. Then when it has acquired strength, 
it takes up that nest in which are the bones of its parent, 
and bearing these it passes from the land of Arabia into 


THE RESURRECTION. 


321 


Kgypt, to the city called Heliopolis. And in open day, 
flying in the sight of all men, it places them on the altar 
of the sun, and having done this hastens back to its for¬ 
mer abode. Do we then deem it wonderful for the Maker 
of all things to raise up those again that have piously 
served Him, when even by a bird He shows us his power 
to fulfil his promise?” (Epistle 1. 24, 25, 26). Such is 
the proof that this great Father gives us for the resurrec¬ 
tion of the dead. It is hard to think that any man could 
be guilty of such folly; but not only, as we see, was Cle¬ 
ment guilty of it; but Tertullian also, and others of the 
Fathers, give us similar arguments to substantiate this 
nature-contradicting dogma. In the return of day and 
night, the man of common sense sees nothing else than a 
necessary result of the earth’s diurnal rotation; and in the 
growth of vegetation from the seed, it is well known that 
there is no death, and therefore no resurrection. Nothing 
will grow from a dead seed. At the time of sowing, the 
embryotic plant is alive. It needs only a little to enable 
its encased life to burst its barriers, and become a thing of 
beauty and usefulness; and this little it finds on being 
buried in the soil. Its transformation from seed to plant, 
is as simple and real, as is the growth of the chicken from 
the egg. In each case there is no break in life’s continu¬ 
ity, no cessation of life’s activities. With regard to what 
Clement says of the phoenix, it would be foolishness to say 
anything. His credulity must have been amazingly great 
to adduce a myth in proof of such a stupendous miracle. 
One cannot fail, however, to recognize the fact that the 
testimony of such writers must be received with the great¬ 
est caution. 

A little after Clement, Polycarp speaks of the doctrine 
of the resurrection; but makes no attempt to adduce any 

proof by way of substantiating it. Another of the apos- 
21 


322 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


tolic Fathers, Justin Martyr, who died near the end of the 
second century, found it necessary to write apologies for 
the doctrine of the resurrection of the dead. In these apol¬ 
ogies Justin admits that even the resurrection of Christ 
was denied by some Christians: “And there are some,” he 
says, “who maintain that even Jesus himself appeared only 
as spiritual, and not in flesh, but presented merely the ap¬ 
pearance of flesh.” After much useless argument, the only 
proof of the doctrine adduced by Justin, is the alleged 
resurrection of Christ, the actuality of which, as he admits 
but a moment before, was denied by many. 

Another great church Father, Irenseus, who died 
about the end of the second century, endeavors to show 
the reasonableness of faith in the resurrection of the dead, 
in these words: “For if God does not vivify what is mor¬ 
tal, and does not bring back the corruptible to incorrup¬ 
tion, He is not a God of power. Surely it is much more 
difficult and incredible from non-existent bones,and nerves, 
and veins, and the rest of man’s organization, to make 
man an animated and rational creature, than to reintegrate 
again that which had been created and then afterwards 
decomposed into earth. L,et them inform us, when they 
maintain the incapacity of the flesh to receive the life 
granted by God, whether they say these things as being 
living men and partakers of life, or acknowledge that having 
no part in life,they are at the present moment dead men.” 
(Against Heresies in). In another place the same 
author speaks of the growth of the seed from the plant as 
showing the probability of the resurrection. 

Tatian, one of the early church writers, while not at¬ 
tempting to give any reasons for his belief, states his faith 
in these words: “For just as, not. existing before I was 
born, I know not who I was, and only existed in the po¬ 
tentiality of fleshly matter, but being born after a former 


THE RESURRECTION. 


323 


state of nothingness, I have obtained through my birth a 
certainty of my existence; in the same way having been 
born, and through death existing no longer, I shall exist 
again. For God will restore the substance to its pristine 
condition. ’ ’ 

Theophilus, another apologist for the resurrection, and 
writing about the close of the second century, bases his 
argument on the growth of seeds and fruits, and on the 
recovery of the body after sickness. 

About the end of the second century, Athenagoras al¬ 
so wrote what is called by some a noble treatise on the res¬ 
urrection. In this work he tells us that the resurrection is 
made probable because of the changes which occur in man’s 
body during life; because judgment must have reference to 
the body as well as the soul; because without a resurrec¬ 
tion man would be less favorably situated than the beast; 
because the resurrection of the body is necessary to man’s 
perfection; because unless there be a resurrection, the same 
soul could not in any other way possess the same body. 

Tertullian, who died about 220, and who states that for 
one to assert the resurrection of the body was to incur the 
risk of being stoned to death, gives us in his apology for 
the resurrection almost the same reasons as Clement. In 
his Address to the Nations he tells them that Christians 
take for granted a resurrection; and that hope in this res¬ 
urrection amounts to a contempt of death. In his Address 
against Marcion, who denied the resurrection, Tertullian’s 
chief work is to quote texts in proof that Marcion was a 
heretic; but he fails in every way to give the thoughtful 
Marcion any reasonable grounds for abjuring his heresy. 

In the middle of the third century the famous Origen 
wrote on the resurrection against Celsus, who denied its 
possibility. In his argument Origen states that the doctrine 
of the resurrection is a great mystery, that it is a high and 


324 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


difficult doctrine, and one which more than others requires 
an advanced degree of wisdom; but he fails to make the 
mystery any more clear; or to give us any stronger reasons 
for believing in it. 

Minucius Felix, writing about the middle of the third 
century, assures us that the resurrection is proved by the 
whole course of nature. Arnobius, who wrote at the end 
of the third century, says it is symbolized in Pluto’s myth; 
and Methodius, who died early in the fourth century, de¬ 
clares it is even paralleled by the generation of man. In 
the Constitution of the Holy Apostles, an early Christian 
production, we are told that the sibylline books testify to 
a resurrection. Lactantius also, in his Divine Institutes 
written about the middle of the fourth century, refers to 
these books in proof of a resurrection. While referring 
thus to the sacred books of the people whose religion the 
Christians denounced, Lactantius, nevertheless, speaks 
more dogmatically than his predecessors, declaring that on 
the resurrection day, God will visit the unbeliever with the 
most awful punishments, while the believer is raised to 
everlasting blessedness; nor does he hesitate to set forth 
minutely the different ways in which the infinite and lov¬ 
ing God will .seek to avenge himself on the helpless but 
unbelieving creatures whom his own hands have made. 

We have mentioned the chief church writers during the 
first four hundred years, and given their reasons for be¬ 
lieving in the resurrection of the dead; but out of all these 
reasons we have been unable to find even one that gives us 
any reasonable ground for faith in the dogma of the resur¬ 
rection. Most of these reasons are too childish to mention; 
the rest are partly mere repetitions of irrelative facts, and 
partly quotations whose truth remains unproved and un- 
provable. Why is it that after nineteen hundred years of 
preaching and threatening, the most enlightened minds of 


THE RESURRECTION. 


325 


the world are unable really to believe in the doctrine of the 
resurrection? Is it because of wilful refusal? Is it because 
of a desire that the dogma Should be false? Neither of 
these can possibly be the reason; for man is predisposed to 
faith in the resurrection. 

The cause of this predisposition is not far to find; and 
the result of this predisposition enables the priest to sow 
his dogmatic seed on many a piece of fallow ground, that 
brings forth a thousand-fold. Man is a very self-conceit¬ 
ed animal; and the labors of dogmatists, moralists, and 
psychologists, moved in general by the same motives of 
gain, or prevented from acting sincerely and boldly through 
the fear of estranging their friends, or of the loss of pres¬ 
tige, have greatly strengthened man in this conceit. In his 
studies, true enough, he is frequently brought face to face 
with the fact that zoology classifies him as a member of 
the animal kingdom, a single limb of a common tree, a 
branch of a common stock; but he is not a little offended 
at any attempt to subject him to the natural results of such 
a classification. His admission that he belongs to the 
animal world, is a mere lordly condescension, or an ad¬ 
mitted relation which he feels he may at any time deny. 
Nor is such a feeling of superiority at all to be wondered 
at, as it is one which manifests itself, more or less, through 
every plane and sphere of life, and is undoubtedly coexten¬ 
sive with the whole animal world. With the increase of in¬ 
telligence, we are sure, comes the decrease of this feeling of 
greatness; but rare indeed is he who is willing to admit 
either his own ignorance, or the insignificant part he plays 
in the world of being. Man is ever willing, as Cicero, to 
magnify the worth of his deeds, and to imagine that his 
name will be held in honor by the generations to come; 
that he will be called “wonderful counsellor,” after the 
names and vain doings of his contemporaries shall have 


326 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUT. 


been iost in oblivion. No word in the English language is 
smaller than the pronoun, I; but on the other hand no other 
word is regarded by us as having such a precious content; 
and anything and everything which in our judgment 
tends to increase the value of this content, is eagerly accept¬ 
ed. We are in haste to find out the abode of a rich and 
influential relative; but we are more than willing to let the 
home of the poor and lowly one remain unknown to us. 
While a few of us may not seek to be flattered; all want to 
be praised, or regarded as superior to our own fellows. 
Having such a feeling of superiority, it is not at all strange 
that many are found willing to subscribe to the dogma of 
the resurrection, even though, at the same time, fearing 
that they really are but members of the animal world, they 
despair of the truth of the dogma; or that so many sit pas¬ 
sively in their own pews while their ministers make their 
unproved and unprovable assertions, and fulminate their 
anathemas against unbelief and unbelievers. 

Man is predisposed to believe in the resurrection also, 
because of a desire of a reunion after death. If the res¬ 
urrection of the body were really necessary to a reunion 
after death with our departed friends, in the highest and 
truest sense, then I for one should be inclined at least to 
hope for it; but since it can not be shown that this reunion 
after death is at all conditioned on the resurrection of the 
body, I should certainly be foolish to entertain any such 
delusive hope against science and reason. Belief in the 
resurrection, however, based on the desire of again being 
with those we have so much loved, is at least founded on 
something else than conceit. Indeed, scarcely could a 
noble man be blamed for indulging such a hope, even 
though there were no vested priest, nor mitered bishop, 
and church bell had never tolled; for true love is not sel¬ 
fish, but seeks another’s good. It labors not to sound the 



THE RESURRECTION. 


3^7 


praise of self, nor to magnify one’s own superiority. It is 
the fairest tree in the garden of God, but it is grafted on 
another; and all the flowers it bears, and the perfume it 
sheds, are used to beautify and make redolent the life of 
another. The beauty and worth of friendship can never 
be overestimated; it is a principle truly divine, full of 
solace, full of hope; yet, how much more praise-worthy and 
holy is that all-over-powering love which man feels for the 
woman in whom the forces of his being are centered. O 
woman, thou art God’s true high-priest, his faithful pro¬ 
phet and teacher, and his most blessed angel! Without thee 
the sun does lose its potent heat, the earth its greenness, 
and the heart its buoyant hope. When moved by this holy 
force of love two noble hearts that have beaten together 
in joys and sorrows, are riven asunder by the strong arm 
of Death; when beauty, and hope, and consolation are 
taken away from man, is it any wonder that he should 
yield a willing assent to the dogma of the resurrection. 
Indeed, having such fallow ground and fruitful soil, the 
wonder is, not that the church should have succeeded in 
making so many believe in th.e doctrine, but rather that 
her success should be so limited, and the believers in the 
dogma so few. But the reader may contend that the be¬ 
lievers in this dogma are not few; that multitudes assert 
their belief in it two or more times each week, by the re¬ 
petition of the Creed. Our reply is, that repeating the 
Creed is not believing in it. A few months ago a lady, who 
was an Episcopalian and had been all her life, told me 
that though she had repeated the Creed year after year,she 
had never been able in her heart really to believe in it; and 
the writer knows that the acknowledged disagreement be¬ 
tween the heart and lips of this woman was not peculiar 
to her, but is one that is most common to professors in 
general. 


328 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


In showing the improbability of the resurrection of 
the dead, we may state first that— 

Man is a Member of the Animal Kingdom. 

A man comes to us with a report of having seen an aer¬ 
onaut ascend to the height of two miles, using for his bal¬ 
loon a soap-bubble fifty feet in diameter. Such a report 
without doubt would be believed by many uncultivated, un¬ 
intelligent, and unquestioning persons, especially if the re¬ 
porter should state that the balloonist had received divine 
assistance; but by the intelligent it would be set down as a 
falsehood or a joke. No amount of testimony could make 
the educated man believe that a thin film ol water having 
such a large surface exposed to unequal internal and exter¬ 
nal pressures, could possibly escape collapse under the 
strain necessary to effect the ascent reported. Neverthe¬ 
less, that a man should have faith in such a report, is far 
more reasonable than that he should believe in the dogma 
ol the resurrection. Believing in the former does not in¬ 
volve a violation of the known laws of nature; believing in 
the latter does. The soap-bubble, especially if filled with 
hydrogen, can certainly ascend with some weight, to some 
height, for some time; for this has been over and over 
demonstrated. In the report, therefore, there would be 
nothing absolutely contrary to established laws; although it 
would be a gross exaggeration of the force of a soap-bubble. 
On the other hand, to have faith in the dogma of the res¬ 
urrection of the dead, is not to believe in a mere exaggera- 
tionjbut in something absolutely at variance with all known 
universal laws. Man is a member of the animal kingdom. 
His generation differs in no respect from that of any other 
animal; and he is subject to the common laws that 
govern all animal life. There is not an atom in his physi¬ 
cal organism that is peculiar to him, or produced in any 
way different from that in which those of any other animal 


THE RESURRECTION. 


329 


are produced. In birth, in infancy, in maturity, in decline, 
in death, man only exemplifies animal life in general. Dur¬ 
ing the period of gestation he assumes the forms and charac¬ 
teristics of various lower animals; and after birth, though 
his form is comparatively fixed, he manifests common ani¬ 
mal propensities, and is governed by common animal 
necessities. It takes man about twenty-five years to pass 
from the egg to the perfect state; while it takes the cicada 
about seventeen years, and the bee only about twenty days. 
In the beginning, indeed, ‘ ‘all animals from the sponge to 
man, appear essentially alike;” and even after quite a lit¬ 
tle time has passed, it is yet impossible to determine 
whether the rudimentary form under investigation is that 
of a frog or a human being. “The gill-arches of fish origi¬ 
nally exist exactly the same in man; and in the first months 
of development he possesses a real tail, ’ ’ (Haeckel), a rem¬ 
nant of which remains even in his perfect state. Indeed, 
at the age of four weeks the embryos of man and dog are 
almost exactly alike; and even when the human embryo is 
eight weeks old, it has a most striking resemblance to that 
of the dog at six. Every atom of man’s frame is of the 
earth, earthy; and every atom after death returns to the 
earth from which it was derived. We lay the forms of our 
dear ones in their peaceful beds. In a few years, perhaps, 
a handful of dust remains; and in a few more, even that 
has become diffused, or incorporated in other animal and 
vegetable life; and the animals and vegetables thus pro¬ 
duced become in time again incorporated in the living 
bodies of other living forms. Thus it is that the atoms 
forming our frames are, as it were, but given us for present 
use, afterwards inevitably to be handed over to the use of 
others. The real title to these atoms remains in the earth 
alone. She grants their use for a time to certain of her off¬ 
spring, who after they become physically unable to make 


33° 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUR. 


a profitable use of them, are forced to yield them up, and 
give them over to others who use them profitably. Thus 
in process of time much of the earth’s surface will have 
been incorporated in living animals; and after countless 
years shall have *rolled around, even in human frames. 
The same atom will thus have passed from one human 
frame into another an indefinite number of times. Since, 
therefore, the self-same atom enters into the formation of 
an indefinite number of individuals, the number of differ¬ 
ent atoms that have helped to form all the human beings 
that have ever lived, are very small indeed compared to 
that vast number which have hitherto entered into the for¬ 
mation of all mankind. Now, if the dead be raised at all, 
they must be raised having the identical atoms they had 
when living. That the spirit be clothed about with a simi¬ 
lar body, is by no means a resurrection of the body that 
was laid in the grave. We affirm again that if the identical 
atom which enters into the body when living, be not raised 
after death in the resurrection, there is no resurrection of 
the dead; and that any assertion contrary to this statement 
will, in due time, be found to consist of empty words. 
Now, as the forms of energy are various, while the total 
amount of energy is invariable, and since it is impossible 
to make-fifty pounds of flour out of one ounce of wheat; 
so, as we have seen, it is impossible to fashion out of atoms 
sufficient only for a million of bodies, a number sufficient 
for a million millions. Out of nothing, nothing comes. If 
the reader should hold that God Almighty can create atoms 
whenever necessary, we reply that even were such creation 
possible, it could not affect the impossibility just stated. 
Creation does not partake of the nafure of resurrection. 
The one is the bringing into being, out of nothing, of that 
which has not been before; the other is simply the bring¬ 
ing back to being of that which has been before. The res- 


the resurrection. 


331 


urrection of the dead is conditioned on the bringing back 
to being of the bodies that have been; and it is this that we 
find impossible; since it is contrary to well-known universal 
laws,—to the law of the conservation of energy, to the fun¬ 
damental law of equality, and to that of common sense, 
and every-day experience. 

Another insurmountable objection to faith in the dog¬ 
ma of the resurrection, is found in the fact of the constant 
and incessant changes to which the body, during life, is 
subject. In order to understand the nature and amount 
of this change, one must have some knowledge of the basic 
elements of living organisms. As in the city there is 
nothing foreign to man, the city being only a multiplica¬ 
tion of the individual, so in the human framework there is 
nothing foreign to the individual cells which compose it; 
but as by the association of individual men, the possibilities 
and latent powers of each are called forth and manifested 
in civic government, and in higher and more complex 
activity, so do the human body and its government show 
us, in a higher and more complex form, the forces and 
latent powers of the individual cells which compose the 
body. In size the cell ranges from one five-hundredth to 
'one ten-thousandth of an inch in diameter; but “within 
their narrow boundaries are exhibited all the essential 
phenomena of life, growth, development, and reproduc¬ 
tion’ (Norton). It is as certain that every living organ¬ 
ism originates in a cell, as that the house originates in a 
brick or stone; and that as a house is but a multiplication 
of the individual brick or stone, so is the adult organism 
only an aggregation of the individual cells. Not only is 
this true, but the same elementary phenomena of life are 
common to all cells alike, whether it be a unicellular or¬ 
ganism, a cell of a plant, or one from the tissues of the 
highest animal. “The" minutest cell”, says Prof. Max 


332 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUT. 


Verworn, “exhibits all the elementary phenomena of life. 
It breathes, and takes nourishment. It grows, and prop¬ 
agates itself. It moves, and reacts against stimuli”. 
Furthermore, in lower animal life in general the waste 
resulting from the wear and tear of life is not so great as 
it is in the higher ones. In man this waste is very great 
indeed; for in him “the constituent cells live very fast, 
making much waste, and using much food”. (Martin). 
Some idea of cell life may be had from the action of blood 
corpuscles. The colorless blood corpuscles act as if living 
animals. Each of these consists of a soft mass of proto¬ 
plasm. They change their forms constantly and sponta¬ 
neously, thrusting out one process, and retracting another. 
They are even seen to “creep across the field of the 
microscope; and they sometimes bore right through the 
capillaries, and creep about among the other tissues”. 
(Martin). As they become chilled, after having been 
taken from the body, they get closer and closer together, 
as pigs on a cold day. Thus we see the elementary stones 
of the human temple are constantly crumbling into dust, 
and others take their places. The body, therefore, that 
we have at one moment, is not, in all of its elements, the 
body we have at the next; far less is the body we have to¬ 
day the body we shall have to-morrow. It is absolutely 
certain that the body even at the instant of the last breath 
of life, is nbt the same, in all respects, as that which is 
afterwards laid in the tomb; for even after we cease to 
breathe, many changes take place before all the vital forces 
cease to act. Since in life, therefore, we have really very 
many bodies, only one of which is dogmatically promised 
us in the resurrection, it follows that we can not hope that 
the body which we have at any particular moment can be 
raised from the dead; and therefore that we can not hope 
that the body can be raised at all. In this we have another 


THE RESURRECTION. 


333 


reason for not believing in the absurd dogma of the resur¬ 
rection of the dead. 

For the truth of this dogma we have no positive evidence 
whatever. The changes which come over the larvae of 
most insects in passing from their lowest to their perfect 
.state, are held by some to be typical of the resurrection; 
but we find no reason whatever for such conclusion. 
“Man”, says Norton, “is developed on the same general 
principles as the butterfly; but the transformations are con¬ 
cealed from view’ ’. The likeness of man’s transformations 
to those of the butterfly, however, has reference exclusive¬ 
ly to those transformations which occur on this side of the 
tomb. The organs of the larva do not change directly 
into those of the perfect insect, but develop gradually out 
of, as it were, formless matter; but the animal while in this 
intermediate state, is not dead. Shut up in silence, its 
living forces manifest the most wonderful activity, and 
cease not until the perfect insect is produced. In such 
transformations we find nothing like that from life to death. 
Indeed, in such we find no more appearance of death than 
in the case of a master-builder who, having determined to 
change the plans of his building, ceases not his labors, but 
.sets more men than ever to work, to finish the structure 
according to the new design. All animal transformations 
are constructive; death is destructive. The one builds up; 
the other tears down. The one is conservation; the other 
is dissipation. The one is victor; the other is captive. 
The one is form; the other is chaos. The one is light; the 
other is darkness. In brief: the one is life; the other is 
death. We insist that the reasonable man can find nothing 
in animal transformations to strengthen his belief in the 
dogma of the resurrection. From such considerations as 
these, we are forced to conclude that nothing other than 
the common fate of animal organisms can await the human 


334 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


frame. 

Concerning the character of the proof which we find in 
the New Testament for the truth of this dogma, we think 
sumcient has been said in “God and Man,” and elsewhere 
in this volume. Mr. Fisher, writing in support of the 
New Testament miracles, but speaking of those which are 
said to have been wrought more especially by the medieval 
saints, says: “It can not be denied that pious fraud played 
a prominent part in the biographies of the saints. When 
positive trickery has not been practiced, circumstances have 
been concealed which, if known, would have stripped 
many a transaction of the miraculous aspect which it wore 
in the eyes of the ignorant. In order than an individual 
may be enrolled as a saint, and invoked in this character, 
it has been held to be indispensable that he should have 
wrought miracles. It is easy to conceive not only what a 
stimulus this theory must have afforded to the devout 
imagination, but also what conscious exaggeration and 
wilful invention must have sprung out of such a creed. A 
great number of ecclesiastical miracles can be explained by 
natural causes. Frequently natural events of no uncom¬ 
mon occurance are viewed as supernatural. The physical 
effects of vigils and fastings, were no doubt in many cases 
salutary. Heated imagination, ardent faith, confident 
hope, may produce extraordinary effects. A variety of 
nervous disorders are cured by sudden shocks.” Mr. 
Fisher then admits that if the Gospel miracles were of the 
character of the ecclesiastical, “there might be no occasion 
for referring them to supernatural agency;” but he, of 
course, denies their similarity. 

In reply we would say that in most ancient times, no 
less than in apostolic, men were predisposed to belief in 
the miraculous. Dreams were supernatural; comets were 
prophetic of dire calamity; prodigies announced every 


THE RESURRECTION. 


335 


memorable event; sacrifices prevented divine wrath. Even 
Cicero assures us that no one ever heard of a nation that 
did not believe in divination, as was proved by the exist¬ 
ence for so many ages of the temples and the oracles. 
This universal predisposition to faith in miracles, would 
naturally incline men to accept as true any reported won¬ 
der, and to unfit them for all critical investigation of the 
nature required. Belief in the marvelous has been in all 
ages the one string in the human instrument, on which 
priests and bishops have delighted most to play. “Their 
power has always grown, with the extinction of civil gov¬ 
ernment, and the spread of superstition.” (Bryce ) Apol¬ 
lonius of Tyana, whom the pagans declared superior to 
Christ, was said to have raised the dead, cast out devils, 
healed the sick, and to have performed countless other 
miracles equally wonderful. In like manner Porphyry 
was held to have exorcised evil spirits, and Iamblicus to 
have made himself appear, by praying, ten cubits tall,and 
to have drawn out of the waters the goddesses of rivers, 
and to have exhibited them in bodily form. Eleazer, a Jew, 
drew a devil through the nostrils of an afflicted person. 
That the followers of Christ should have believed that he 
possessed miraculous power, is only what might be ex¬ 
pected; nor is it any more strange that the medieval saints 
should have professed to do what they believed their mas¬ 
ter did. According to Irenseus all Christians had the 
power to work miracles. He tells us that they prophesied, 
cast out devils, raised the dead, and healed the sick. Au¬ 
gustine assures us that many miracles were performed, 
some of which he had himself witnessed. The relics of 
saints gave sight to the blind, and expelled wicked spirits. 
In the sixth century the blood of St. Stephen is said to 
have been found upon the altar in Bordeau. In the dio- 
gese of Tours an altar had been raised near the grave of a 


336 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


supposed saint. To make himself sure of the character of 
the person who had been interred there, St. Martin stood 
upon the grave, and prayed that God would remove all 
doubt from his mind. Instantly a frightful-looking ghost 
is said to have appeared, saying, “I was a robber, and 
these are my bones.” A finger of St. Celsus is reported 
not to have been in the least affected by the fiercest flames, 
even after long exposure; and a piece of linen with which 
Christ is said to have wiped the apostles’ feet, could not, 
it is reported,be consumed by the fire. When Clovis sought 
to carry away a bone from the body of St. Dennis, the ec¬ 
clesiastics tell us he was immediately struck with blindness. 
They also affirm that the relics of Saints Peter and Paul 
wrought most wonderful miracles, similar in character to 
those we have mentioned. Gregory the Great assures us 
that the bishop of Placentia wrote a letter to the river Po, 
when it had overflowed some church lands; and that when 
the letter was thrown into the waters, the river immediate¬ 
ly fell back into its customary bed. The fame of Gregory 
Thaumaturgus as a wonder-worker was too world-wide to 
need mention. We have need only to say that for the 
genuineness of his miracles the ecclesiastics have produced 
a host of witnesses. 

It is useless to reason with any man who holds that 
such miracles are, in their character, different from those 
reported in the New Testament. For our own part we can 
explain Mr. Fisher’s position only on the grounds 
of the charge which he himself brings against the 
ecclesiastical miracles: his apology for the New Testament 
miracles should be regarded as made “in coincidence with 
a prevailing system, and for the furtherance of it.” Not 
only are there a vast number of reported ecclesiastical 
miracles whose wonderful character is fully equal to that 
of any of those in the New Testament, but many of them 


fHE RESURRECTION. 


337 


are far better substantiated. The charge, however, which 
Mr. Fisher brings against the ecclesiastical miracles, is 
true; but the apology he makes for those of the New Tes¬ 
tament, is utterly groundless. 'No reasonable man can 
found his faith or hope on miracles; for they can not- be 
substantiated. It is impossible to remove the feeling that 
they may have originated in some way or other as Mr. 
Fisher and thousands of other able writers before him, have 
described. We can not, therefore, appeal to miracles in 
proof of the dogma of the resurrection. 

So convinced was Merton of the absurdity of the dogma 
of the resurrection, that at the last Easter services he held 
in the Episcopal church, while declaring the power of Jesus 
to raise his followers out of a life of sinful indifference to a 
life of holy activity, he did not hesitate to state to his peo¬ 
ple that he did not believe the bodily resurrection of Jesus 
Christ had been sufficiently substantiated to remove honest 
doubt from the thoughtful and scholarly mind. 

In conclusion, we can not too forcibly remind the reader 
that this chapter has not been written with the view of 
weakening his religious inclinations, but rather of strength¬ 
ening them. We fully believe that God is no respecter of 
persons; that He has no favorites, no elect, no chosen peo¬ 
ple; that what He has done for any, He has done for all; 
and that what He has not done for all, He has not done for 
any. His laws are for all. His spirit is in and over all, 
transforming, purifying, sanctifying, and encouraging; and 
it is led by this spirit that humanity worships, adores, and 
glorifies the ever-living and only God and Father of all. 
There could be no greater miracle than that man who needs 
a miracle to convince him of his duty and privilege to 
.adore his Creator, and chant the universal hymn of praise 
to God. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

THE HEAVENLY ADVERSARY. 

(Numbers xxii. 22.) 

(A Sermon by Henry Merton .) 

* < '"|“'HERE is 110 subject which brings religion into such 
antagonism with science, as that of prayer. There 
are many ignorant, earnest Christians who fully believe in 
the power of prayer to move the Deity to act in their be¬ 
half. On the other hand, most scientists affirm that prayer 
is not only irrational, but that it partakes of the nature of 
irreverence, if not of blasphemy. Such men may find some 
reasonable hope of immortality; but they find no grounds 
whatever of hoping for an answer to prayer. Nor must it 
be supposed that only irreligious scientists and infidels thus 
deny the efficacy of prayer; for even some who are among 
the most religious take the same position. Says Eckhart: 
‘Thou needst not tell God what thou hast need of; he knows 
it all beforehand. If I pray for anything, I pray for that 
which is nothing. He who prays for anything besides God, 
prays for that which is an idol. The pure man does not 
pray; for every prayer is for some definite object, but the 
heart of the pure craves for nothing. God is not moved 
by our prayers. He has foreseen all things from eternity, 
including, therefore, our prayers; and he has from all eter¬ 
nity granted or refused them’. 

“But if prayer has no other value, it is certainly of in¬ 
finite value in its subjective influence. We should pray 
rather that God’s will be done in us, than for any special 
object or favor. 

“Near the close of Israel’s wanderings, and on the east¬ 
ern side of the Jordan, opposite Jericho, might have been seen 

two men,Balak and Balaam, the former being the king of 

338 


THE HEAVENLY ADVERSARY. 


339 


Moab, the latter his heathen priest. Balak saw what the chosen 
people had lately done to the Amorites, and fearful that his 
own subjects might be dispossessed of their country by these 
strange Israelites, who, he says, were sufficiently numerous 
to ‘ lick up all around about them as the ox licketh up the 
grass of the field,’ besought Balaam to importune with God 
to rid him of the Israelitish immigrators. 

“ Whoever Balaam was, as a priest he stood high in the 
hearts of the people, and, without reasonable doubt, was in 
favor with God ; for the king says : I know whom thou 
blessest, is blest ; and whom thou cursest, is cursed. He 
therefore sent the elders of his people with gilts to his priest 
that he might intercede in his behalf, and turn Jehovah 
against the chosen race. As asked, Balaam prays, but is 
commanded not to curse whom the Lord hath blessed. Ba¬ 
lak does not yet despair He appeals to the pride of the 
priest by sending him princes as messengers bearing the 
promise of great promotion, and even of royal obedience, if 
only the priest come, and pray against the Israelites ; but 
Balaam nobly says: If Balak would give me his house full 
of silver and gold, I can not go beyond the word of the Lord 
my God to do less or more. Again the word of the Lord is 
unfavorable to the king who once more importunes his priest 
to plead with God against the Israelites. Five times does 
this priest, by request of the king, seek to know if God will 
oppose the progress of the Israelites. After his second in¬ 
tercession with God, and on going to have a personal inter¬ 
view with the king, he is met on his way by the Angel of 
Jehovah who opposes his progress with drawn sword. The 
priest forthwith confesses his sins, but pleads his ignorance 
of having God for an adversary. On the whole the charac¬ 
ter of this heathen priest compares very favorably with that 
of the Christian priests of to-day; for the word that God 


340 FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 

put into his mouth, that would he speak, and none other, 
though his house were filled with silver and gold. 

“ In considering our very important subject, we shall 
seek to throw light upon the question, when may we expect 
to be opposed by the heavenly adversary. 

“ (I) : Rome is coming into prominence. The descend¬ 
ants of Romulus and Remus, though at first despised by the 
Carthaginians, are now getting to be treated with deference. 
Their merchant-ships frequent ports hitherto visited by the 
Carthaginians only. The city upon seven hills must be 
plowed up, if Carthage holds her sway. One of the bravest 
and most skilful generals that ever led armies to battle, is 
sworn by deadly oath never to sheathe his sword, till hated 
Rome be humbled. The foes have their priests who day by 
day plead with God for victory ; the generals and the sol¬ 
diers gaze into the face of God for a sign. Heaven and 
earth are invoked by the hostile armies ; thousands upon 
thousands lie weltering in their blood ; the eternal city is 
threatened, but the tide turns. Rome sails out to sea a 
stately ship, and mistress of the world ; Carthage is thrown 
on shore a pitiable hulk, and left to be buried by the drift¬ 
ing sands of time. These countries were not Christian ; but 
who dares to say that no praying hearts were found among 
these people ? Could a man be the author of Cato Major, 
and never pray to God ? Could the heathen priests and 
temples receive from the people such lavish offerings, unless 
the people had faith in their worship ? We have every reas¬ 
on to believe that such people, without the knowledge of 
Christ, had a knowledge of the one God and Savior of all. 
They having not the law, were a law unto themselves, their 
consciences bearing witness unto the truth. Where there is 
a heart to pray according to the light given, there is there a 
God to bless. Rome grew, spreading her branches into 
every land ; scattering literature, arts and science into the 


THE HEAVENLY ADVERSARY. 


341 


darkness of heathendom ; opening the channels of commu¬ 
nication by inculcating an harmonious and universal lang¬ 
uage ; and crowning all with a jurisprudence the growth 
of centuries, and the wonder of the then known world. Her 
noble minds are to be the vehicles of higher truths; her 
philosophy is to be given to the nations as the outward garb 
of righteousness,—even to distant Britain which, in the ages 
to come, was to develope a nobler freedom, and an intenser 
light for those sitting in darkness, and in the valley of the 
shadow of death. Carthage, with all her prayers and sacri¬ 
fices, was to cease to be remembered : her cruel laws, her 
heartless oligarchy, her inhuman butchery, her stunted lit¬ 
erature, her lack of an appreciative moral-sense, were all to 
pass away. 

“France impelled forward by monk and friar, is not to 
rule the western world, but England is to enter in, and take 
possession. Her strong sense of justice, her love of princi¬ 
ple, her sense of duty, her spirit of freedom, are marked 
qualities of the nation that God destined to be the educator 
of the world. The world writhes under ihe heels of Bona¬ 
parte, and liberty’s blood sends up its cry from the ground 
of oppression. God hears the cry ; and Waterloo rescues 
humanity from the spirit of tyranny. Thousands of faithful 
prayers from cottage and temple had ascended for the suc¬ 
cess of the great general ; but God winked at them : free¬ 
dom must extend her sway, and the truth must be preached, 
and the chariot of the true Christ move triumphantly on. 
France, powerful as she is, and pray as she does, in 1815, is 
not permitted to sway the nations. 

“ Mary is very ardent, zealous and prayerful for the 
Roman cause ; and bishops and priests, then as now, invoke 
the blessing of the Almighty upon her endeavor to extirpate 
the great schism and heresy. The machinery of the church— 
the sword, the pike and the faggot, are on hand in abund- 


342 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUT. 


ance, to add force to the prayers of the priests ; but the 
blood of Latimer and Ridley is stronger than the papacy, 
and cries to God for vengeance from the Smithfield fires. 
This small but worthy sacrifice for truth and freedom was 
accepted ; and Latimer and Ridley lit a candle in England 
that never can be put out. The blood of martyrs is the seed 
of truth. That seed has taken deep root with us. The pray¬ 
ers of the Bloody Queen, though fervent and faithful, 
availed not. She died, and the power of Romanism, in 
England, died with her. 

“(II): A faithful mother bends over the fever-lit eyes of 
her dying son. It is her only boy, and her heart yearns 
over him. Already over the grave of her husband, whom 
she loved so dearly, is the grass growing green. How can 
this widowed, heart give up her only support ? Must the 
angel of death reap on such a blighted ground ? Must the 
heart lose its last object of love, the eye its lustre, and the 
breast its hope ? * Take this bitter cup from me, O my 

Father,’ she cries ; ‘ oh, spare my boy, my only boy, that 
the springs of my life may not be altogether dried up ! ’ 
Few prayers so fervent as this of the lonely and broken¬ 
hearted mother ; but, alas ! it availeth not. Her boy was 
laid in the cold, cold grave, by the side of her husband ; and 
she is alone in the world, a miserable object of charity. 
Perhaps the son was taken from the evil to come. The tree 
had borne but little fruit; but had it been left in the garden, 
it might have become worm-eaten, and, thus cumbering the 
ground, been cut down, and cast into the fire. 

“In a paternal mansion a happy gathering is seen. Faces 
are flushed with pride, spirits jubilant with joy ; for another 
unit is to be added to the nation, a new family circle formed, 
a new centre of pieasure created. No heart-thrust can be 
received from the world, that may not now be healed by 
loving hands at home ; for the twain shall be no longer two 


the heavenly adversary. 343 

but one. No tears can flow, which may not now be wiped 
away ; no woe endured, which is not gladly shared. Even 
here, into this union of hearts, does death make an entrance, 
and rive the bonds asunder. Without apparent aggravation 
or cause, the chariot and horsemen have taken the spirit of 
the fair one to the skies, leaving the bereaved to wither and 
die. What grief such soul endures ! What woe now fills 
his breast ! Can it be a pleasure to God, thus to afflict his 
children ? It can not be. Our sky may never again be 
clear, the heart no more may feel its bliss ; but with arid 
sands beneath, and a brazen sky above, we may be sure He 
doeth all things well. Our life, if lonely, is short; if the 
burden be heavy, we may lay it down to-morrow. Besides, 
our loss is our friend’s infinite gain : the fever no more shall 
parch the lips, nor dethrone the mind ; harrowing pain no 
more shall rack the body, nor disturb the soul’s tranquility ; 
no more temptation, nor bitter tears of repentance; the con¬ 
flict with death is over, the eternal shore is gained. 

“ The apostles prayed, and their brethren through all 
ages have followed their example ; yet thousands of those 
prayers have never been answered. The wise father on earth 
will refuse the petition of his child, if detrimental to the 
family’s interests ; so will our heavenly Father refuse to hear 
our prayers, if they be opposed to the well-being of his other 
children. 

“(Ill): The great apostle of the Gentiles prayed three 
times that the thorn in his flesh might be removed ; but 
God’s ears were deaf to his cries. That his prayers should 
be granted, was very desirable to Paul ; for whatever the 
thorn in his flesh may have been, it seemed a great impedi¬ 
ment to his popularity as a preacher, and to his success as a 
^master-builder in the great temple of God. But, in after 
years, Paul confessed it was good for him that God had 
been averse to his prayers. How many of us plead with 


344 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


God for things which unmask our selfishness! How few 
resign self into the hands of our heavenly Father ! He puts 
us into the furnace to burn away the dross, and we endeavor 
to resist ; the adversary meets us on our way in our un¬ 
righteous ambition, and after a contest generally succeeds in 
driving us back into the valley of humility ; but sometimes 
we parry so long with the sword of Jehovah that He sheathes 
it, allowing us to pass madly on in the road of pleasure, un¬ 
til we fall headlong into the gulf of ruin. Better for such 
had he died in his infancy, before the ‘ silver cord was 
loosed, or the pitcher broken at the fountain, or the wheel 
broken at the cistern, or the grasshopper became a burden, 
or his desire failed.’ * 

“ Job prays that God may forget the day of his birth, and 
that the people curse the night wherein he was born. He 
prayed for death as for hidden treasure, yet it came not. 
Day and night he complains of the heavy hand of God ; 
still the Lord continues to visit him with affliction, until Job 
saw it was in love that God had smitten him. Few pray as this 
man prayed, yet the Lord refused to grant his wish. 

“Far off in eastern lands, where every stream and 
river is a memorial of past greatness, where every zephyr 
falls on our ear as a requiem for the dead, I see an aged man 
toiling up a mountain side. For six-score years he has 
braved the sea of life, which has brought him every phase 
of human activity. The royal palace and the hovel have alike 
been his home ; the court and the desert are alike familiar 
to him ; he has been the greatest of legislators as well as 
the humblest of shepherds. But now, full of days, weary, 
wounded and worn, with his white locks falling upon his 
shoulders, leaning on his staff, he gazes into the distance, and 
beholds the object of his yearning spread out before his • 
longing eyes,—the Promised Land, where his heart longs to 
beat, and his head to rest; but God will not listen to his 


THE HEAVENLY ADVERSARY. 


345 


cry. Here on lonely Nebo, without a friend to wipe the 
death-sweat from his brow, or pillow his fainting head ; 
here on the threshold of his home must he fall down, and 
give up the ghost. Ah! it was a thorn in the flesh of Moses 
to be left for the birds of prey. I can see his face, in a halo 
of glory, turned pitifully to God ; but Jehovah says: ‘ Thou 
shalt not go over thither.’ He is dead ; but did the birds of 
the air feed on his flesh ? Oh ! what a burial! what a se 
pulchre ! what a funeral service! God was his priest, and 
cherubim and seraphim took care of the dead. 

“Away yonder in lonely Gethsemene a sorrowful man 
is seen crushed with care and anxiety. He hath not where 
to lay his head; he is despised and rejected of men. He 
foresees the pricks of the spear, the wagging heads, the 
mocking multitude; he feels already the burning thirst, and 
the pains of death. With such a bitter cup to his lips, he 
cries’: ‘Father, if it be possible let this cup pass from me; 
nevertheless, not what I will, but what thou wilt.’ The 
desire of his great human heart is not granted; the Father’s 
will is done; the cup is quaffed, and Christ the Savior dies; 
but though he died, he lives, and lives forevermore, our 
exemplar, our master, and our guide. 

“ We have seen that prayers, however fervent, are fre¬ 
quently never answered; we, too, must therefore expect such 
disappointment. But to have the will of the Father done in 
us, is to have the best done for us. ‘ Not what I will, but 
what thou wilt,’ was the submissive cry of Christ, and should 
be that of us. 

“ Whatever ye ask in prayer, it shall be given you, pro¬ 
vided it be agreeable to God’s will. Pray, and pray with 
your might; but do not seek to turn the heavenly adversary 
aside from guarding your way. Whether your prayer be 
answered or not, never cease to believe that God doeth all 
things well.” 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

HAPPINESS AND VIRTUE. 

Two Sermons by Henry Merton. 

CC jNa world so full of toil, anxiety, uncertainty, sickness, 
and death, a discourse on happiness would seem but 
idle talk, and waste of time. But we have all been happy 
in our dreams, and even in moments of semi-consciousness, 
imagining ourselves again at the hearthstone of our par¬ 
ents. Such moments are as showers in times of dearth— 
they leave a blessing behind them. 

“It can not be disputed that men have lived in all ages, 
under all civilizations, who have appeared at ease, while 
their neighbors have been restless; contented while their 
neighbors have been consumed with desire; discharging 
willingly their duties however lowly, while others have 
been subjects of grumbling and despair. As the bee makes 
honey out of the juices of insignificant plants, so .some men 
appear to have the wisdom of extracting a blessing out of 
almost a curse. They seem to have a higher faculty of dis¬ 
crimination than their fellows. Should we, however, more 
critically examine the matter, we should probably find that 
their superior attainments were but the result of the use of 
those powers common to us all, but which in the case of 
some, are allowed to remain dormant. 

“When Pericles was dying, and his friends stood 
around his bed lauding his great deeds, the dying man 
said, ‘What I chiefly prize myself, you have not noticed: 
No Athenian ever wore mourning through me. ’ Pericles’ 
estimation of what was good, differed from that of his 
friends. 

‘ ‘In discussing the subject of happiness we may say that 
the days when purity of heart and sadness of c6un- 


HAPPINESS AND VIRTUE. 


347 


tenance were thought inseparable, are no doubt gone, and 
properly enough. Utilitarianism though perhaps to some 
extent an exaggeration, is yet more in conformity with 
human nature, than any system of ethics which teaches 
that pleasure is a barrier to the attainment of the highest 
manhood. 

“ In seeking a true polity for a people; we should first 
ask ourselves, what form of government will be the most 
agreeable, suitable, and enduring, and, at the same time, 
give them the highest benefits of social life. So in morals 
and religion, we must not, as many have done, make man to 
suit a preconstructed system, but the system to suit man as 
we find him,—the man of to-day as distinguished from the 
man of other ages, the being that inhabits this world of ours 
as distinguished from those who possibly dwell in more per¬ 
fect worlds. We must seek what will perfect, develop, edu¬ 
cate, all the powers of his varied nature. So far as any sys¬ 
tem fails in accomplishing this, so far is it a departure from 
the true method. 

“ As man is but a small part of the great whole, so is his 
nature a veritable copy of it. Nature does nothing in vain, 
and she is beautiful and happy. Incessant change charac¬ 
terizes her: frost and snow, sunshine and shade, cold and 
heat, summer and winter, storm and calm, abundance and 
want. So with man : his life is but a cycle of changes,— 
sorrow and gladness, pleasure and pain, the warmth of man¬ 
hood's mid-day splendor, and the chilly air of life’s setting 
sun. Yet throughout all these varied scenes he continually 
strives for happiness. This is but natural, and nature is but 
the garment in which God wraps himself, and all her ways 
are but manifestations of the operating Deity. To conform 
to nature, is therefore to conform to God’s law; and to con¬ 
form to this law, is to be godlike ; and to be godlike, is to 
be continually striving for the perfection of our nature. 


34« 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUl,. 


However varied his life, man is only consistent with nature, 
therefore with himself as a part of nature, when he makes 
happiness his end. 

“ We can lay down therefore as our first proposition, that 
happiness is the end of life. This I am not only willing to 
admit, but all teaching which denies it, I regard as illogical, 
or founded on imaginary premises. You and I are each 
seeking pleasure, enjoyment. Our working-days, our sleep¬ 
less nights, our beating hearts, our aching heads, our days 
of suffering, our deeds of kindness, our deeds of hatred, are 
all the product of the one desire—the desire for happiness. 
That this is the end of all effort is evident; but why in seek¬ 
ing it, different men frequently pursue contradictory 
methods, is not so evident. We may say, however, that as 
nature in general is varied, so is human nature, and that this 
variety makes men pursue different courses in the pursuit of 
the one universal object — happiness Moreover, when the 
nature is debased, it may make man pursue a course de¬ 
structive of what he aims at. Those who fail to attain hap¬ 
piness, may frequently be said to labor under a false 
impression, or false apprehension, either through a per¬ 
verted nature, or a lack of education, or both. There are 
those, for instance, who seeing the power of money, give 
themselves wholly to its acquisition. They are willing to 
shut up every avenue to their soul, except that of avarice; 
and to prevent the egress of any thought, except that which 
meditates on gold. The possession of money, the power of 
wealth, the flattery of parasites —these things appear to 
them radiant with beauty; and casting aside all scruples, 
disregarding all other claims and duties, they reach forward 
to the acquisition of worldly possessions, believing that 
once obtained, they will be to them a fountain of pleasure. 
I remember well in my boyhood four brothers, of whom 
one by report had said, ‘ I will make a fortune for my chil- 


HAPPINESS AND VIRTUE. 


34* 


dren, if I go to hell for it.’ He had succeeded in acquiring 
about ten millions of dollars, when he received a visit from 
Death, and was informed that the time was at hand for giv¬ 
ing an account of his stewardship. He piteously begged 
his visitor to depart, and offered his attendant physicians 
thousands of pounds, if they could force him from his pres¬ 
ence. But notwithstanding the power of gold, they were 
compelled to leave him to his fate; for they knew they had 
no power with death. It is evident that something was 
wrong with this man; for it is most improbable that a man 
who had lived well, whether Christian or heathen, would 
object to nature drawing the curtain at the close of this life. 
Because, as in any other drama, so in the drama of life, 
such a man wishes to see the next scene. 

“ Some there are who fancy their happiness best ob¬ 
tained by becoming the heads of political circles. Already 
they imagine themselves sought after by corporations, and 
office-seekers. Power is what they want. They do not 
understand that happiness and great power are not insep¬ 
arably connected; nor does the fatal mistake of Wolsey 
serve to correct their judgment. 

“ There are those who might say to me, it is ignoble to 
teach that man strives for his own happiness rather than 
his neighbor’s. To such I reply that man in seeking his 
own happiness, most effectually accomplishes that of 
society. We do not deny that self-denial is a principle of 
the human constitution, and that it must be an ever-active 
one in that man who wishes to develope the highest man¬ 
hood. * Indeed, without any doubt, the power to restrain, to 
refuse to gratify, is not less necessary in the attainment of 
human happiness, than the power to accomplish. Passive 
energy is as necessary as active, in building up the perfect 
man. Nor should it ever be forgotten that one immoderate 
or unguarded act may work a greater injury than months of 


350 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


labor could repair; aye ! it might mar or ruin the whole 
life. Yet, even in the committal of this one blasting act, 
the person was seeking what he thought was his own hap¬ 
piness. 

“ The non-use of anything, is its impotence; the excess 
of anything, is the evil thereof. The self-love which Christ 
condemned, while apparently self-love, is really self- 
destruction; and destruction is not life’s end, but preserva¬ 
tion. Therefore the short-sighted selfishness of the vulgar, 
is not productive of their happiness; for it is not true self- 
love. I can say without limitation, that no unbridled, 
immoderate, excessive, or unreasonable, act ever produces 
individual good or happiness. In the words of Aristotle: 
‘ Noble action and happiness are the same thing.’ Nothing 
can be said truer than this; and we should govern ourselves 
accordingly. 

“ There are those who apparently labor contrary to all 
their own interests, and for so doing earn the names of 
heroes — in charity, in philanthropy, in the church, in 
politics, in state, or on the field of battle; but whether a 
man dies the death of Nelson, a Howard, a Savonarola, a 
Becket, or a Cook, it may safely be said that he died pursu¬ 
ing what he thought would most likely work out his own 
happiness. Great heroes have great souls, and great souls 
have good judgments, and good judgments look at final 
not less than immediate results. What to a short-sighted 
man may appear ruinous, to him who sees the end of things, 
may appear most desirable. But whether the judgment of 
the worker be correct or incorrect, I insist that the thing 
sought in the activity of every living being, is the laborer’s 
own happiness. Nevertheless, it is certainly true that 
while all men aim at happiness, only the few succeed in 
reaching it. You say, ‘but we can conceive a man or 
woman committing an act which they know must be ruin- 


HAPPINESS AND VIRTUE. 


351 


ous to their own interests; and in that case, they can not be 
seeking their own happiness.’ I reply you are mistaken. 
That they may be committing an act which, in your judgment, 
may be ruinous to their own interests, I am willing enough 
to admit; but I affirm that at the time they commit the act, 
however ruinous it may be, and however differently they 
might act in cooler moments, they are lost to all but the 
pleasure of the moment, and this pleasure appears just 
what they need. They can not see the deadly poison in the 
food they eat, nor the fatal fangs of the serpent they play 
with; rather do they say ‘all is fair, all is beautiful.’ 
But after a time, when the wickedness which was conceived 
is brought forth, they behold an evil-shaped monster, rather 
than the beautiful form they had imagined. That which 
promised to be their constant joy, turns out to be their cor¬ 
roding sorrow. 

“ Our blessed Lord was once asked, what is truth ; and 
the multitude might ask him to-day, were he here, what is 
happiness. The one great proof of darkness within, is the 
fact that while we think we are partaking of some dainty 
morsel, we are not unfrequently found eating our own flesh. 
Not that we know we are acting thus foolishly, for no man 
would wilfully and knowingly injure himself; but by the 
fallaciousness of our judgment we may imagine the shadow 
to be the substance, or even destroy the very thing we are 
searching for. The sunken eye, the bloodless cheek, the tot¬ 
tering gait, the repulsive countenance, the ennui and lassi¬ 
tude, which characterize so many of our young men and young 
women, have their causes more frequently in dissipation than 
in any too severe mental labors. Your family physician 
knows the truth of this assertion. 

“In judging what is for their own happiness, some are 
almost certain to be mistaken. Such mistake, when made, is 
not with all a sin ; it maybe only through a natural weakness, 


352 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUE. 


If we have but one talent, God holds us not responsible for 
having ten. The nature with which the child is endowed is 
frequently but a bow strung with poisoned arrow aimed 
at the heart of the child. The instruments of death were 
prepared for him, without money and without price, in the 
laboratory of his parents. The sins of descent are cumula¬ 
tive; and because of this, man has an aggravated depravity, 
and is found everywhere deceived and deceiving. His ap¬ 
petites unbounded, his understanding narrow; his desires 
devouring, his judgment untrue; his passions a giant, his 
will a dwarf. Many a parent deserves no blessing from the 
child he has brought into being. We should be temperate 
in all things. Thus living, every house will be a church; 
in every heart, enduring joy; in every breast, immortal life. ’ ’ 

VIRTUE. 

A Sermon by Henry Merton. 

“It was common among the Stoics to define virtue, as a 
certain quiet or rest of the perturbations and passions; but 
Aristotle was by no means satisfied with this definition. In 
one place he says that virtue is a habit or state of mind, 
which chooses between two extremes—excess and de¬ 
ficiency; in another, that it is the finding and pursuing the 
middle course. The power of finding and pursuing the mid¬ 
dle course, lies in the reason. A virtuous man might there¬ 
fore be defined as a man who lives in accordance with the 
dictates of the reason. But just as surely as Jesus Christ 
spoke the truth, when he said that there were but few en¬ 
tering into life, so true is it that there are but few living a 
life in accordance with reason. 

“From the practice of virtue, says Aristotle, a man 
becomes virtuous; from the practice of justice, a man be¬ 
comes just. So says St. John: He that doeth righteousness,is 


HAPPINESS AND VIRTUE. 


353 . 


righteous. As the practice of virtue, justice, or righteous¬ 
ness, makes a man virtuous, just, or righteous ; so he who 
does not practice justice, virtue, or righteousness, can never 
become a good man. The knowledge of what constitutes 
these noble, moral traits, is not sufficient: right theory and 
proper practice are each alike necessary to the develop¬ 
ment of a good man. In this, as’in other arts or sciences, 
every man is not competent to theorize for himself; for 
virtue is as much the flower of reason, as the rose is the 
bloom of the rose-tree. Now all rose-trees are not alike : 
while some are so situated as to produce a perfect rose, 
others are not. And when we desire to know the nature of 
a rose, we never think of choosing a stunted and sickly tree; 
but we search until we find a perfect one. Thus when we 
search after the normal action, and proper uses, of the reason, 
we do not choose for examination a sickly, poorly endowed, 
badly educated mind ; but one, as far as possible, properly 
educated, and harmoniously developed. Ever and anon 
such a man appears ; and, like a star of the first magnitude, 
his path of life is a stream of light emanating from virtue. 
Such a soul is indeed a true light that lighteth every man 
that cometh into the world. In him only is seen the truly 
beautiful and good ; and he only has that reason which 
may be taken as our guide. Such a man has meat and drink 
of which the multitude know nothing ; and to him nature is 
responsive and the secret of happiness made known. To 
virtue nothing is beautiful but truth ; for virtue seeks great¬ 
ness of soul, and greatness of soul continually feeds on 
truth’s immortal fruit. Virtue can never be fed on silver or 
gold, or any other external adornment ; for in possession of 
all these, it would speedily sicken and die. Virtue lives and 
grows only through the right use of the reason ; and reason 
hath its perfect work, only when building up a man immortal 
and divine. When we say that reason must be our guide, we 


354 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL,. 


mean the reason of the reasonable man. Reason other than 
this, is no more to be trusted as a guide, than the stunted, 
sickly rose can be used as a type of roses. 

“Virtue is its own reward. In speaking of one of the 
elements of virtue, Solomon says : ‘She shall give to thine 
head an ornament of peace ; a crown of glory shall she 
deliver thee.’ Kingdoms must rise and fall, nations live and 
perish ; but the head that is decked with virtue’s crown, 
remaineth king forever. How petty appear the objects of 
the vulgar man to that soul possessed of the quietude, and 
heavenward tendencies, of virtue! Every other* possession 
is sought as a means ; virtue only is sought for itself. Virtue 
is true life, soul-life ; the absence of virtue is true death, 
soul-death. Soul-life is spiritual life, and spiritual life is 
divine energy, and divine energy is an emanation from the 
one Universal Spirit, God. He that dwelleth in virtue, 
therefore, dwelleth in God, and God in him. The posses¬ 
sion of virtue gives peace, rest, trust, hope, courage and joy; 
the total lack of virtue leaves the soul in outer darkness, and 
deplorable misery ; while the lack of it, in any degree, mars 
to that extent the sacred temple of God. From the petty 
jealousies and hatreds of neighbors to the armament of 
continents in universal strife, every thing destructive to 
human happiness, can be attributed to the lack of virtue. On 
the other hand, whatever happiness is found, blessings ex¬ 
perienced, or peace possessed, may certainly be said to be 
the fruit of virtue. Well may virtue be its own reward ; 
for with it, poverty is riches ; without it, the millionaire is a 
beggar. 

“ Virtue we have said is soul-life. Now, soul-life depends 
for its existence on intercourse with the Deity, the Uni¬ 
versal Soul. The virtuous man, therefore, is devout, and 
ever listening to the whisperings of the Infinite Spirit. 
Quiet within, he is not greatly disturbed by the distractions 


HAPPINESS AND VIRTUE. 


355 


without; his peace flows like a river; his eye sparkles with ce¬ 
lestial light; his heart beats in unison with the heart of 
nature; and he understandeth the words: 

‘ Change and decay in all around I see; 

O Thou who changest not, abide with me/ 

“ How can such a soul, fanned by the gentle breezes of 
heaven, be content in a polluted atmosphere, or with a mere 
display of drapery! As day by day the feathers appear, 
the little nestling tries to leave its mother’s^ home. Its latent 
powers are breaking into activity. It feels the stirrings of a 
new life; and longs to soar into yon azure skies. So with 
the virtuous man: he becomes conscious of latent powers; 
feels the stirrings of a higher life; longs after suitable com¬ 
panionship. Music from another clime breaks upon his ears; 
multitudes of the holy and the just seem exposed to his 
gaze, bathed in a flood of divine light; and he feels himself 
ascending, as he longs for their companionship. 

“ How such a soul pities the mass of mankind, as he sees 
them consumed in the hells of their own making! There 
they lie, without a drop of water to cool their burning 
tongues. Deceived and deceiving, they taste not the water 
of life, nor eat the fruit of blissful immortality. 

“ Let us choose that part which can not be taken from us, 
which will stand adversity and prosperity alike, which is 
hopeful in life, and confident in death; let us choose the 
part of virtue; and soon, as immortal flowers, we shall grow 
and bloom forever in the paradise of God.” 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. 


Non censet lugendum esse mortem quern immortalitas consequatur — 
He does not consider that death should be mourned, which im¬ 
mortality follows. {Cicero) 

“Das Grab ist tief und stille, 

Und schauderhaft sein Rand; 

Es deckt mit schwartzer Huelle 
Ein unbekanntes Land. 

“Das Lied der Nachtigallen 
Toent nicht in seinem Schoos; 

Der Freundschaft Rosen fallen 
Nur auf des Huegels Moos. 

“Verlass’ne Braeute ringen 
Umsonst die Haende wund; 

Der WaiseKlagen dringen 
Nicht in der Tiefe Grund. 

“Doch, sonst an keinem Orte, 

Wohnt die ersehnte Ruh ; 

Nur durch die dunkle Pforte 
Geht man der Heimath zu. 


“Das arme Hertz liienieden 
Von manchem Sturm bewegt, 

Erlangt den wahren Frieden 
Nur wenn es nicht merh schlaegt.” 

{Salts) 


jyj ERTON and his wife had been visiting a parishoner 
very sick of cancer. It would be, perhaps, impos¬ 
sible to find stronger evidence of the vicissitudes of human 
affairs, than Merton received by this visit. But a year 
before, this patient had been in robust health, and sur¬ 
rounded with contentment and happiness. Now all was 
changed; and death was near. On leaving the residence of 
this sick person, they wandered in the cemetery for 

356 


DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. 357 

some time among the sleeping dead. Merton’s wife moved 
among the graves like a drooping lily. 

“ Harry,”, she said, “ before I knew you, and for some 
time afterwards, I was greatly troubled with the fear of 
death. Do you know that that fear has entirely left me 
now? How peacefully the dead sleep here ! The flowers 
seem to put forth more beautiful hues, and shed a sweeter 
fragrance, blooming over such peaceful forms. It is said, 
‘ God is not the God of the dead, but of the living.’ I do 
not like that saying. I have no doubt that He is as much 
the God of the dead, as of the living. It may be the dead 
are even more alive than the living. Look at this tomb¬ 
stone, and at the inscription it bears: ‘ Sie schlaft in ruhe 
— she sleeps in peace.’ How many German names are 
here ! and how I love that language ! What a blessing to 
think that God knoweth no nation as such ! that all the 
sleeping dead, of whatever kindred or tongue, may rest in 
peace, watched over by Him ! I know that it is taught 
that only he who dies in Jesus, may hope to rest in peace. But 
I believe none has lived so well as he might have lived, and 
none so wickedly ; and that it is not the believer in this or 
that dogma, of whom after death it may be said, he rests in 
peace. Rather may it be said of him who in this life stood 
at his post of duty, and did what he could for himself and 
others, according to his own consciousness of what was 
right. I love the blessed Jesus, but I can not but believe 
that every man in the world, who lives up to his own ideas 
of truth and right, will after death rest in peace. Surely, 
this is not the only world for rectifying our judgment ! 
How ignorant are the wisest of us ! how little our greatest 
strength ! What contradictions exist in the different 
denominations ! I thank God that I firmly believe that all 
Christians and heathens will be judged by the same rule of 
justice ; and that rule is, in my opinion, that we must do 


358 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


with our might what we believe we should do. If I 
believed anything less than this of the goodness and justice 
of God, I should be afraid to trust Him, afraid to die ; but 
I feel perfectly safe in trusting my body and soul to Him. 
If at any time I shall learn that I did wrong, wherein I 
thought I was right, I shall not be afraid, provided I can 
say, Dear Father, forgive me. I thought in doing what I 
did, I was doing thy will. 

“ This is a beautiful cemetery, Harry, sweetened by the 
fragrant breath of flowers. I like the thought of lying 
beside my people in my death ; but if I should die, I would 
like you to bury me here. It is a sweet place, and you and 
my children would be more likely to visit my grave. I 
want to live, darling Harry, for your sake ; but if I die, let 
me sleep in peace here.” 

“ My lovely Mabel, I trust you will not wither away as 
yet. To die would be gain to you, my sweet one ; but 
your death would be a cost to me that I could never pay. 
I pray the dear Father for my sake to spare your precious 
life ; for without you I fear I can not live. Fight hard for 
health, dear Mabel, for my sake. Courage, you know, is 
half the battle.” 

“ I will try to live, Harry, for your sake. I know you 
need me. But if I die, you must not give way. If God 
takes me from you, He will give you strength to do both 
your work and mine. He doeth all things well.” 

“I do not doubt the goodness of God, my darling 
Mabel, and that you know right well; but I can not bear to 
hear you talk of leaving me. I know when you go away to 
that better land, your sun will rise to set no more forever ; 
but, O Mabel, my darling, mine will go down to rise no 
more. May God grant your translation may be long post¬ 
poned. Thou art ‘so conjunctive to my life and soul, 


DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. 


359 


that as the star moves not but in his sphere, I could not but 
by ’ thee.” 

“ Harry, do you believe the dead know what the living 
do? do you believe the one may aid the other ? ” 

“ Mabel, I have thought much on what you now ask. 
Concerning the future state we have no certain information. 
All we know is based on conjecture ; but I have never been 
able to see any valid reason, why I should not answer your 
question in the affirmative. The living can certainly aid 
one another ; and if the dead be not dead but living, I 
think it unreasonable to hold that the dead and the living 
are separated by an impassable gulf. The idea that they 
are, will not stand examination. There is no reason for 
believing that any other portion of infinite space is pro¬ 
vided with a better place for heaven than the part we now 
occupy. The spirit after death might move a thousand 
times swifter than the earth in her orbit, and still, in all 
probability, move for millions of years through space filled 
with suns and planets, similar to those we know, all obeying 
the law of gravitation, a law which we have every reason to 
believe, is universal. There must be a limit to swiftness of 
motion ; for a finite being can not be everywhere at once. 
It must, therefore, take a spirit some time to pass from one 
part of space to another ; and, for my part, I do not like 
to think of the soul, after death, as making a long 
and lonely journey through the burning or frozen regions of 
limitless space. Such an idea of death is well set forth by 
the immortal bard : 

“ Ay, but to die, and go we know not where, 

To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot; 

This sensible warm motion to become 
A kneaded clod; and the delighted spirit 
To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside 
In thrilling regions of thick-ribbed ice; 

To be imprisoned in the viewless winds, 


360 FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUt- 

And blown with restless violence round about 
The pendant world; or to be worse than worst 
Of those that lawless and uncertain thoughts 
Imagine howling, —’tis too horrible. 

The weariest and most loathed worldly life 
That age, ache, penury, and imprisonment 
Can lay on nature, is a paradise 

To what we fear of death.’ —[Measure for Measure.] 

“ The common idea is, that after death we pass some¬ 
where beyond the stars. The nearest star to us is Alpha 
Centauri. To reach it a cannon-ball would require more 
than three million years; and light, which moves at the rate 
of one hundred and ninety-two thousand m.iles a second, re¬ 
quires three and a half years to pass from it to us. 
By this I mean that if God were to blot out Alpha Centauri, 
it would still appear shining to us for three and a half years. 
The double star 61 Cygni requires a period of nine and a 
quarter years to transmit its light to us; and Capella re¬ 
quires more than eight times the period of the latter; while 
light from Alcyone, in all probability, is not less than five 
hundred years in coming to us. Nor have we any reason 
for supposing that beyond these distant worlds there are 
not others rolling, whose distances are as great from these, 
as the distances of these worlds are from us. The universe, 
as far as reason teaches, has no limits; and throughout its 
awful depths reign law and order, and the whole is filled 
with worlds in all stages of perfection, ruling and ruled like 
our own. At what point of space between Alcyone and the 
earth shall we fix the place where the average orthodox be¬ 
liever locates his heaven? and why should we fix an asylum 
for the departed spirits, in such far off regions that light re¬ 
quires more than five hundred years to cross? Is it to find 
its God ? I answer, I can not imagine any place more 
filled with deity than the space through which our earth now 
rolls. I conclude that there is no reason for supposing a 


DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. 361 

long and dreary journey, or a flight in angels’ bosoms, for the 
departed spirit, in order to find its place of rest. Heaven is 
is as likely here as elsewhere. Just where it is, none but mad¬ 
men has ever conjectured; but we can with as much reason 
fix it near the point of space we now occupy, as in any 
other. It is awful to think of a soul wending its way 
through the dreary abyss of infinite space, to find its resting- 
place. I rather like to think of the spirit-world as opening 
to the eyes and ears of our departing friends, as the scenes 
of this world disappear. Not to some far off region do the 
spirits of the departed fly, ‘blown with restless violence 
round about the pendant world;’ but though hidden from 
our gaze, they may yet continue near us; and if so, why 
may they not aid us ? why may we not aid them ? I know 
we have no positive knowledge concerning the future world; 
but it is my faith that between the living and the dead there is 
no impassable gulf, except in states of being. I, therefore, 
pray for my departed dear ones, and I believe they pray for 
me. If prayer be of any value, it is foolishness to suppose 
that it avails nothing between the living and the dead. If 
I should die, I should hope to be able to watch over you, 
and inspire you with faith and trust; if you should die, .1 
should pray for you, as I believe you would continue to pray 
for me. I will never believe that in death the soul eternally 
dies; and while I believe the soul in death does not die, I 
shall think it reasonable to believe that the dead know what 
the living do, and may help them in various ways, more es¬ 
pecially by inspiring them with high and noble thoughts. 
But, my darling, while I believe all this, and hope it true, l 
yet trust it will be many years before I shall have to ex¬ 
change the positive blessings of this known existence, which 
I now receive from your dear self, for the hoped-for bless¬ 
ings from a world unknown. Abide with me, Mabel, for 


362 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


when thou art near, I fear no foe; thy presence turneth my 
darkness into light.’’ 

“Your Mabel will abide with you, darling, if she can; 
but I was going to say, some of the teachings of the church 
about the departed are very comforting to me; but others 
are not so. I do not like, lor instance, the idea of a fixed 
state. It seems to me to be so unlike God, as manifested 
in his visible works. ’ ’ 

“I hardly think, dear Mabel, that a judgment so mis¬ 
taken and self-contradictory about things so easily known, 
can be considered of much value about things beyond the 
reach ot human thought. The church whose ignorance and 
arrogance have led her to persecute, and put to death, the 
purest and best the world has ever known,can not be trusted 
to decide for us concerning the future. Not a little of her 
teachings is the laughing-stock of the world, at least of all 
rational-minded men; and her teachings with reference to 
the unknown world, are probably as true as they have been 
concerning physical science, witchcraft,and heresy. Think 
what we will, dear Mabel, about the future state, I do not 
believe the King of glory is any less merciful and good than 
any king of earth. When we live, let us trust Him; when 
we die, let us trust Him. He who watcheth the sparrow’s 
fall, will not be unmindful of ours. I would not like to live 
without faith in the immortality of the soul, Sunshine. Here, 
I fancy, we scarcely begin to know, to love, or to do. We 
come into the world infants physically, and leave it infants 
mentally and spiritually. Few there are of those who have 
lived,who, before death, attained to anything like spiritual 
symmetry, or soundness; and I am sure that the wisest man 
that has ever lived, has felt, at the time of death, that all 
his learning seemed nothing, as he thought of the vast fields 
beyond, which he longed to explore. It takes a life-time to 
make a beginning in the world of knowledge. Is it possi- 



DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. 


363 


ble that so fair and promising a flower must be cut off in 
its bud! Nature herself seems to say it cannot be so. 
Such a spirit as thine, Sunshine, I cannot believe will die; 
it could not have been made to die eternally, or sleep the 
sleep of death. Rather shall thy sun shine on, brighter 
- and brighter, after all earthly suns have ceased to shed 
their light; for thou shalt have gone to be nearer to that 
One Infinite Sun the Life, the Savior, and the Father of 
all.” 

Several months had passed away. Mrs. Merton lay 
upon her dying bed. 

“Harry, ’ ’ she said, ‘ ‘I want to tell you that a few days 
ago, I destroyed all your love-letters to me. I am not 
willing that any eye but mine should see the expressions 
of your tender love. And I hope you will burn all the let¬ 
ters you received from me, before my marriage. What I 
wrote. I wrote for you. I want you to destroy them all. 
One thing more, darling, your Mabel has arranged every¬ 
thing in those drawers. You know they will want clean 
clothing, and such things. You can tell the ladies that 
they will find everything in those drawers. 

“And now. Harry, I feel I am leaving you fast. Let 
me ask you to administer the holy communion.” 

In the celebration of this sacred rite, Merton was al¬ 
ways most earnest and devout; for he believed it his 
duty and privilege to offer himself therein a living sac¬ 
rifice unto the God whom he adored. In this holy 
sacrament he felt his fellowship with Jesus was perfected. 
He was his guide; and it was he who had said, “Do this 
in remembrance of me.” So in this holy rite, Merton re¬ 
membered him as a preacher of righteousness, as a savior 
of men, as a friend of sinners, as a son of God, and finally 
as laying down his life for the sake of the truth. So when 
Merton figuratively drank his blood or ate his' flesh, he 


364 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


tried to offer unto God areal offering—his powers, his life, 
his all. This was his aim, and such was his resolution 
when he prepared to perform this office for his dying lov¬ 
ed one. Mrs. Merton well knew his belief, and that he 
was trying not only to be calm in the presence of death, 
but also to drink the bitter cup he was offered. As Mer¬ 
ton placed the element denoting the body, in the palm of 
her hand, and said, “The body of our Lord Jesus Christ 
which was given for thee,” he knew she was offering her¬ 
self then, that the offering had been received, that she was 
really disappearing from his view, in a few hours to be 
given over to the cold embrace of death. But his soul 
was comforted at the words, ‘ ‘preserve thy soul and body 
unto everlasting life.” Death could take her from him, 
and hide her in the moldy chambers of the tomb; but it 
could not take away the hope, that in one of the many 
mansions the Father hath, he had a room for her, and 
some day would have one even for him, and that there he 
would see her again. True enough, as Kant teaches, Mer¬ 
ton well knew that ‘ ‘the permanence of the soul beyond 
life remains undemonstrated, and undemonstrable;” but 
the belief in immortality was too strong in him to give up 
the hope of meeting his wife again. It was a solemn time; 
but one in which the hope was strong, that the spirit shall 
not die. 

“Harry,” she said, “I felt prepared before; but now 
everything has been done that is thought proper. Now 
go, and take care of yourself; look to your own health. 
Much will in the future depend on you. For the sake of 
our three little ones, you must bear up. The duty of mother 
and father must hereafter, dear Harry, fall on you. I know 
you will not fail; I am sure you will not be found wanting; 
and may God pity and help you, dear one, when Mabel 
shall be no more. ’ ’ 


DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. 365 

“Mabel,” said Merton, “tell me, have you any fear of 
death?” 

“I have no fear whatever,’’ she answered. “The dear 
Father will take care of me. I think it would be wicked to 
be afraid of death. How could I so mistrust my God!” 

“I am glad, Sunshine, to hear these words. And just 
think of it,—if you should leave us now, you will find your 
dear mother there waiting for you. She is forever free from 
pain and care. Neither winter’s cold nor summer’s heat 
will ever affect her again. She is at rest; and should you 
die, you will not leave her behind you to grieve in this 
vale of tears. ’ ’ 

“Call your mother and our children,” said the dying 
wife. 

They stood around her bed. Tears were seen in her 
eyes, as she with difficulty said: “God bless you, dear 
Harry; God bless my little ones; God bless dear mother; 
God bless you all.” 

Merton knelt by the bedside. ‘ ‘Come nearer, ’ ’ she said; 

‘ ‘come nearer. Let me have your hand in mine; I am pass 
ing away.” 

“Dear Sunshine,” said Merton, “Tell me, is there any 
darkness where you are?” 

“Darkness, Harry!” she replied. “There is no dark¬ 
ness where the Father is. He will lighten my path. ’ ’ 

“Oh, Mabel, my darling, how great should be thy joy! 
Thou art going to see what the glorious future is. Oft hast 
thou heard me say how sweet such death must be! how 
sweet to know what heaven hath in store for us! and to join 
the company of the holy and the blessed! Oh, Mabel, my 
darling, do not forget me when thou art passed from scenes 
of pain. I shall be weary, fainting, broken-hearted, sighing 
for heaven and thee. Do not forget me, Mabel. I shall al¬ 
ways pray for thee, and teach our little ones to do so. Help 


366 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


me, Mabel, from that better world, to live a pure and holy 
life, and to be strong for thine and mine. ’ ’ 

“Blessed, blessed Jesus,” she said, gasping for breath. 
These were her last words. For about three hours she lay 
in a comatose state, when her heart ceased to beat, and her 
breast to heave. Without a sigh or murmur she passed 
from Merton into the unseen world. The words of the 
beautiful hymn that she so much loved, were as balm to 
Merton’s wounded spirit: 

“My God, my Father, while I stray 
Far from my home, on life’s rough way, 

O teach me from my heart to say 
Thy will be done. 

“Though dark my path, and sad my lot, 

Let me be still and murmur not, 

And breathe the prayer divinely taught, 

Thy will be done. 

“What though in lonely grief I sigh 
For friends beloved no longer nigh, 

Submissive still would I reply, 

Thy will be done. 

“If thou shouldst call me to resign 
What most I love, it ne’er was mine; 

I only yield thee what is thine— 

Thy will be done. 

“Renew my will from day to day, 

Blend it with thine, and take away 
All that now makes it hard to say, 

Thy will be done. 

“Let but my fainting heart be blest 
With thy sweet Spirit for its guest, 

My God, to thee I leave the rest; 

Thy will be done. 

The body was dressed for the grave by loving hands; 
and the next morning it was placed in the coffin, which was 
covered with black broadcloth. On its cover it had a plate. 


y DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. 367 

in the form of a cross, on which had been engraved the 
name of her whom Merton had so greatly loved. . 

“Oh, my loved one!” said Merton, “no more shalt thou 
tremble in the presence of death, or at wading the dismal 
flood. No more shall earth’s troubles disturb thee, nor 
the words of unkind ones tear thy tender breast. Hence¬ 
forth thou shalt live a higher life; and dressed in garments 
whiter than snow, join in songs of praise to Him, the only 
God and Father of all. The courts of the temple of the 
higher Jerusalem are now open to thee. Enter thou into 
the holy of holies. Fields of brighter glory are now open 
to thy view. Rejoice and be exceeding glad; death hath 
no sting for thee, nor the grave dominion: through death 
hast thou entered into life.” 

The funeral service was preached by the bishop, and 
the long procession was on its way to the cemetery. Many 
a mourning heart was there, in addition to Merton’s; but 
as the body of the departed one was borne along over the 
road which Merton and Sunshine had so often trodden to¬ 
gether, his soul was heavy and his spirits sank within 
him; for every step was full of memories of the dead. 
There is the house they lived in, when first they came to 
the city. There is the beautiful evergreen whose shade 
the departed wife had so often sought. There is the walk 
she had so often travelled, making music in Merton’s 
ears, as her feet moved over its surface. There is the gate 
her blessed hand had so oftened opened, sanctifying the 
catch she touched. There is the beautiful grove, still sing- 
ingits wierd music; there the short walk through the pines 
and evergreens, which she so oft had taken. Here is the 
gate that opened at her approach, when visiting the sick 
with cancer, and the last through which her beloved body 
shall ever pass; for it leads to the chambers of the dead, 
where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are 


368 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUT. 


at rest. Here are the graves among which she moved, and 
the epitaphs she read; and there a grave newly made, be¬ 
side the carriage-way. The hearse stands still: this grave 
is for the body of Sunshine. The service was continued; 
the coffin lowered; the body given to the forces of destruc¬ 
tion; the grave made redolent with flowers; the Gloria in 
in Excelsis sung. They hid the coffin from Merton’s gaze, 
deeply covering it with new-born earth. The body of his 
loved one slept alone; and from that day, its sleep hath 
been unbroken; and never again, though the earth stand 
green forever, and the heavens pass not away, shall the 
lovely form of Mabel be seen among the living. It was 
then that Merton thus poured forth his poetic soul: 

“Wave your branches, ye lofty pines, and chant your 
dolorous music. Ye feathered songsters that warble over 
her resting-place, sing me now a funeral dirge accordant 
with my soul. Thou glorious sun, vail thy proud face at 
the sorrows of humanity; and thou pale moon, pour down 
thy lambent beams on this our weeping earth. Ye stars, 
that gaze out of the illimitable depths of time and space, 
give but a flickering light; boast not your power, your 
Splendor, your magnitude, your eternity, in the presence 
of a broken heart. Ye weeping-willows, bend low your 
branches, bathe the earth in tears, and let the mournful 
vapor rise to heaven, wrapping the globes in mourning- 
weeds. Ye sweet forget-me-nots, cease not to bloom on 
the grave of her who sleeps, nor to remind the living of 
the lovely dead.’’ 

As being among the forces that greatly affected Mer¬ 
ton’s religious conceptions, it is fitting, perhaps, that we 
should say here, that Merton had been twice married. His 
first wife was one of those beautiful and loving creatures 
born to inspire man with courage and hope, by making him 
conscious, in her every step, that all her happiness is cen- 


DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. 


369 


tered in him. In this beautiful woman, for a brief period, 
Merton found every desire and expectation realized. She 
then gave up her youthful life as a sacrifice for the con¬ 
tinuance of the race, the child following its mother to the 
grave, after the brief period of three months. 

At the loss of his first wife, it were vain to attempt a 
description of Merton’s suffering. Suffice it to say, that it 
was that soul-felt agony experienced by every noble man, 
of high education and most sensitive nature, when forced to 
let his wife, to him the image of all perfection, pass into 
that shadowy realm where Death holds supreme dominion. 
Bitter was the cup which Merton drank, and bitter were 
its dregs. O earth, earth, earth, what is life w r hen the heart 
is dead! As a tree when struck by lightning, as a dying 
world that rolls through sunless space, so is man upon 
whom the beams of love no longer fall. 

But life is real, and its duties are urgent; and man must 
either strive to overcome by adjusting himself to his cir¬ 
cumstances, or yield himself up a prey to his adversaries. 

The influence of a good wife is of inestimable advantage 
to a man in the ministry. The pastor’s relation to his con¬ 
gregation, especially to the female part of it, is of a most 
delicate nature; and no unmarried minister is able, in the 
judgment of a man of cool, calculating, practical sense, to 
take himself wholly out of the plane of suspicion. It was 
this knowledge, added to his desire to be made more effi¬ 
cient, that led Merton, who was yet but a young man, to 
take to himself his second wife. It was a happy choice. 
She was young, beautiful, and of a most happy disposition; 
and although Merton had never ceased to keep in his soul 
a holy memory of his first wife, his heart was fully satis¬ 
fied, and his happiness complete, with his second. Their 
union had also been blessed with three of the loveliest 
children, and strengthened by more than six years of happy, 
34 


370 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


wedded life. It was this beautiful wife, and holy mother, 
that the grave had just claimed from Merton. 

After the burial rites Merton returned to the parsonage. 
It seemed an empty nest. The air seemed chilly; the rooms 
seemed vacant; the house appeared strange,—love had 
flown. The chamber Mrs. Merton had occupied, was full 
of mournful memories; and the bed upon which she lay, 
and where she breathed her youthful life away, became to 
him a thing of pain, and not the place of rest. The sound 
of every foot-fall created expectations, but to blast them as 
they rose. Oft he called to Mabel, but she answered him 
not; oft he sought her presence, but failed to see her form. 
Oft he turned to speak to her, to be mocked by empty space. 
The light of the house no more did shine, the warmth of 
the hearthstone no more was felt; no more was he influ¬ 
enced by the attractions of life. The house was not home; 
for home itself was dead. 

Soon Merton visited the grave in company with his lit¬ 
tle children. Nothing had disturbed the lost one’s resting- 
place: she still slept; and the odor of fresh flowers perfumed 
the grave. The beautiful lily, though, had drooped its head, 
and died, as if of grief for her that slept. In love and sor¬ 
row they bent their knees; and there Merton made for the 
children the following prayer, as well that they might be 
reminded of their mother, as because of the promise he had 
made her: 

“O Lord God Almighty, give rest and felicity to our 
dear mamma in thy eternal kingdom; and cause the light 
of thy countenance to shine upon her, through Jesus Christ, 
our L,ord.” From that time, in their daily prayers, they 
never failed to use these words. Thus the memory of their 
mother was kept ever green in their minds; and thus is 
made possible the realization of the hope of spirit-com¬ 
munion. 


DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. 


37 T 


Merton had been brought up to believe that everything 
which happened to him, occurred by God’s appointment; 
and he knew well that this belief was supposed to be held 
by Christians in general. At the same time he knew what 
he had lost, and what he was suffering as the result of that 
loss. He also knew that one might say as some one fre¬ 
quently did, that such suffering or chastisement was good 
for him; but he could not be satisfied with such an ex¬ 
planation. What had he done to be thus afflicted? All 
around him he saw multitudes of men whose lives were a 
shame to themselves and their friends; yet they lived and 
prospered, and enjoyed the good things of this world, 
their dear ones being with them. Riches, honor,and love 
seemed abundantly possessed by them who lived without a 
thought of God, or a care for their future state. They liv¬ 
ed in fine houses, and possessed many sheep; but Merton 
though having but one little lamb, was in his wretchedness 
deprived even of that, and permitted to live disconsolate. 
He who had been but a bruised reed, was now broken,but 
suffered to live with his head in the dust; he who had been 
but smoking flax, was now made more ready for the flames, 
by the friction of pain and grief. The knowledge of these 
things made it hard for Merton to recognize what is called 
the providence of God. He knew he had prayed and, so 
far as he could see, prayed in vain; he knew he had knock¬ 
ed and, so far as he could see, knocked in vain; he knew 
he had asked and, so far as he could see, asked in vain. 
Yet would he often endeavor to answer himself by 
saying: “God’s ways are not my ways. He knowing 
all things, wisely arrangeth them with a view to my eter¬ 
nal welfare.” But if this be true, at what a cost was he 
redeemed! Without his wife, his life seemed a vacancy, 
with her, a fulness; without his wife, his life seemed chaos, 
with her, order and beauty; without his wife he seemed 


372 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUT. 


weak and destitute, with her he seemed strong and com¬ 
pletely furnished. With his wife he had much to be 
thankful for: her companionship sanctified his life, and 
made it rich and full, indeed, a foretaste of heaven; with¬ 
out his wife, the reason for thankfulness seemed taken 
away; for her absence robbed him of the beauty of life, 
and made it beggarly and empty, indeed, a fore-taste of 
hell. At what a cost, then, was he redeemed! At what a 
cost obtained he his salvation, were it true that what had 
happened to him had occurred by God’s appointment, for 
the working out of his eternal good! Merton could not 
but think that an almighty being,full of love and wisdom, 
might have found some method for the accomplishment of 
this, which would have been less painful to him. 

We have no doubt that the suffering Merton endured 
in those days, instead of adding to the faith of his child¬ 
hood, greatly detracted from it, by lessening his faith in 
what is termed the providence of God, and in supernatural 
interferences. He never could believe that the death of 
his wife was by the will of God; he always did believe it 
was the result of unwise treatment,improper management, 
and insufficient care. So in the case of the death of a lit¬ 
tle son he had lost: Merton believed that it was not a re¬ 
sult in accordance with the will of God, but of injudicious 
treatment or nursing. 

By their death Merton was made more practical, more 
realistic, more skeptical; less visionary, less superstitious, 
less credulous; more a child of reason, less a slave of 
dogma. 

Easter, Easter, glorious Easter! how I love thy glorious time! 
Alleluia! heaven’s echoes fill- my soul with hope divine; 

And the earth, her icy garments casting off, from nature’s bed, 
Brings with joy her new creation, leaping, bursting from the dead. 


DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. 


373 


Easter, Easter, heavenly Easter! lays to thee divine I’ll sing, 
When thv Son, the Lamb of Calvary warms my wintry soul with 
spring; 

When the yearning hope within me, for a power from death to save, 
Rises clad with exultation at the Christ who bursts the grave. 

Easter, Easter! saints and angels, all creation’s wide domain, 
Bring to thee their alleluias; and we join their sweet refrain; 
Alleluias to the Father, alleluias to the Son, 

Alleluias to Jehovah, to the great Eternal One. 

Easter, Easter, joyful Easter! O, what human tongue can tell 
What a comfort thou dost bring us, ever here with us to dwell; 
What a radiant light thou pourest on this palsied soul of mine, 
What a glory all-transcendent; aye! I feel its power divine. 

O my soul! thy jubilations make thee tremulous with praise, 

And thy being, thrilled with rapture tuned to all creation’s lays, 
Bursting with its glad TeDeums for the Christ who came to save, 
Now peals forth the song triumphant: Christ is risen from the 
grave. 

Easter, Easter, day triumphant, day of God’s redeeming love, 
When the mortal spirit vibrates with the harmony above; 

When the cerement, which confines me, scarce prevents the up¬ 
ward flight 

Of my soul redeemed,victorious,from the shadowy realms of night. 

Aye ! my soul now rides the billows swelling from sepulchral gloom 
Surging o’er the blasted nations, sweeping ’fore it death’s dark 
doom; 

Rising to the throne eternal, bathing Chaos’ wide domain,— 
Hark! I hear the whole creation chanting loud this Easter strain: 

Alleluia to the Father, alleluia to the Son, 

Alleluia to the Spirit, God eternal, Three in One; 

Alleluia to the Victor leading Death in captive’s chain; 

Alleluia, alleluia! Christ the Lord is come to reign. 

H.T. B. 






CHAPTER XXXVI. 


AN INQUISITIVE VISITOR. 

Neque decipitur ratio, nec decipit nunquam — 

Reason is never deceived, nor does it ever deceive. 

{Cicero.) 

Moneout agentem te ratio ducat, nonfor tuna — 

I advise thee that in thy action reason not fortune may be 
thy guide. {Livy.) 

jyjERTON was sitting one evening in his study, when he 
fell into a reverie. While in this state he imagined 
that the air of his room became redolent with the most 
heavenly fragrance, and that he heard a voice saying: 

“Thou earnest seeker after the truth, thou so greatly 
tossed on the ocean of doubt and uncertainty, look up; for 
he in whom thou so greatly delightest,is present with thee. ’ ’ 

In his mind Merton raised his head from his study-table. 
There stood before him a being of most surpassing majesty, 
whose eyes shone like most resplendent suns. In his hand 
he carried a shining sword with hilt bestudded with pre¬ 
cious gems, and on which was written, in letters of gold, 
“The sword of truth.”- 

“Who art thou?” asked Merton in his reverie; “and 
what is thy mission, thou most glorious being? Surely thou 
art one of the immortals, whom death toucheth not. Yea, 
thou appearest as one of the gods who take counsel with 
the Father, and know the secrets of nature.” 

“I am Reason,” he answered, “sent forth by the 
Father of the gods to commune with thee. Thou recog- 
nizest me not, because of the outward form which I now 
assume; although I have often come to thine aid before. I 
am now present to commune with thee, as if mortal with 
mortal, about the groundwork of thy faith and work. I have 
many matters to discuss with you; but they are all so impor- 


AN INQUISITIVE VISITOR. 


375 


tant that I regard it immaterial whether I state the first 
last, or the last first. I see you have the Hebrew bible in 
your hands. Do you prefer the original to the transla¬ 
tions ? ” 

“ I always make it a practice, Reason, to read the He¬ 
brew bible every day. I have read it through nearly three 
times; and as in reading it one can more clearly see the 
true or radical meaning of the words, I prefer the Hebrew 
to any translation.” 

“ I am glad you are so well acquainted with the Hebrew. 
It certainly enables you to escape many of the errors of the 
accepted version; but your interpretation would be much 
more exact, had you a lexicon prepared by some one with¬ 
out Christian or Jewish bias. The bible, as you know, 
stands upon the lectern of your church, as the very word of 
God; and from what the people hear their ministers say 
about it, and its conspicuous position in the church, they 
naturally enough regard it as proceeding from the very 
mouth of God. Have you yourself no doubts about its in¬ 
spiration ? ” 

“ I believe the bible, Reason, is a holy book, full of 
eternal truth, and as such fit to be your guide.” 

“ That is not an answer to my question. Do you to-day, 
as you did in times past, believe that those who wrote the 
bible, did so under the immediate guidance of God ? ” 

“ In my childhood, O Reason, I regarded the bible as 
divine and infallible; but, I am sorry to say, since I have 
learned what I have from you, although I accept it as con¬ 
taining much of holy truth, I do not, and can not, regard it 
any longer as literally inspired.” 

“ With regard to such a book, it is nonsense, if not wicked, 
to talk of literal inspiration. I am glad you have given up 
that idea. That ministers deceive the people as they do, is 
not a difficult fact for me to explain; but it is one which 


376 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


heaps disgrace on them. I have often smiled on hearing 
them read the twentieth chapter of Exodus, how that God 
with his finger wrote the ten commandments, and gave them 
to Moses. I have told you, as I have tried to tell them, that 
the ten commandments know no such origin; nor from my 
knowledge of the history of the Jewish religion, and the 
many other religions of the world, can I admit that Moses 
was ever their author. I can not tell you exactly what the 
work of Moses was; but I do emphatically deny that he 
was really the author of the ten commandments. Moses 
was a wise, shrewd and great character. He was a Hebrew 
of the tribe of Levi, who in the natural course of events 
had received the benefit of a thorough Egyptian education, 
and the standing of the ruling caste in that country. But 
though indebted to Egypt for his education and social stand¬ 
ing, he felt still greater obligations to his own kindred; 
and when he saw them, once free men of the plains, now 
serfs of their Egyptian lords, he determined on their deliv¬ 
erance, and, with this object in view, set himself at their 
head. Having had all the benefits of a learned Egyptian 
education, he was well acquainted with Egyptian cosmogony, 
theology, and such sacred writings as were extant, and 
known to the priests of that religious country. I am willing 
to admit that Moses may have formed a kind of digest out 
of the materials known to him on the subject; that he may 
have purified and simplified the modes, forms, and cere¬ 
monies, of religious worship; that from his superior mind 
stored with the varied learning of the times, he may have 
made some original contributions to such digest; that 
assisted by his father-in-law, Jethro, a priest of Sinai, he may 
have given the Israelites their national god, Jahve; but that 
there was anything miraculous about the work of Moses, or 
about the origin of the ten commandments, I emphatically 
deny; and I insist that it is very wrong in ministers to teach 



AN INQUISITIVE VISITOR. 


377 


that there is. Ministers are too fond of either not stating 
known facts at all, or, which is about as bad, of only half 
stating them. They give the people to understand that 
the first five books of the bible were written by Moses; yet 
they know, or should know, that they were not. The so- 
called books of Moses were written hundreds o’f years after 
he had passed away; and their substance had been handed 
down by tradition and legend.” 

“Then you teach, O Reason, that the Jahve of the Israel¬ 
ites was only one god among the many who were, in those 
days, thought to rule over the affairs of men.” 

“I have said, sir, that Moses may have given the Israel¬ 
ites their national god, Jahve. 171115 is only what he would 
have been expected to do, since in those days -every people 
had their national god. The name he chose for the god of 
the Israelites was Jahve, a word not of Hebrew origin, when 
taken in the sense in which Christians use it. Jethro, priest 
of Sinai, and father-in-law of Moses, may have been Moses’ 
advisor in choosing this name; or he may have given the 
word to Moses independently, as an appropriate name for 
the god of the people over whom Moses, his son-in-law, was 
to rule as priest, and king, and legislator. 

“I can not tell you exactly who are the authors of the 
different books of the Old Testament, any more than I can 
tell you for certain who are the authors of all those of the 
New Testament. The learned Spinoza, you remember, held 
that the writings of the Old Testament were not produced 
until the time of Ezra. So much I can say: the writings of 
the Old Testament grew as the sacred writings of other 
peoples ; and they contain, as all other such writings, much 
that is good, and much that is evil. I should find no fault, 
if ministers would tell the people the truth about the bible. 
It is not a miraculous book. The bible, as all other similar 
books, is largely the product of traditions and legends, and 


37» 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUT. 


treats of the rise and progress of a people, of their warriors, 
priests, prophets, morals, cosmogony, and theology. The 
historical books of the Old Testament were for the first 
time subjected to a comprehensive revision during the 
Babylonian exile. Says Prof. Carl Heinrich, an orthodox 
theologian of the University of Koenigsburg, speaking of 
the books of the Pentateuch: ‘Not before the exodus 
from Egypt can we speak in a strict sense of a history of 
the people of Israel. All that lies before this point of time, 
may be characterized as prehistoric. Even if we regard Mo¬ 
ses as the author of the five books which bear his name, yet 
concerning this remote epoch, separated from its own by a 
series of centuries, Moses himself would have had to re¬ 
sort to oral tradition. It was impossible for him to report 
these things as eye-witness. But it is now generally con¬ 
ceded that Moses can not possibly be the author of the 
books named after him. These books originated from the 
comprehensive digestion of a whole series of independent 
written sources, of. which the oldest can not be older than 
King Solomon, nor yet much later, and written conse¬ 
quently between 900 and 850. Any comprehensive and 
coherent work earlier than 900 can not be proved. The 
material contents, the ingredients of these narrations, must 
be regarded from the point of view of popular tradition, or 
legend. It remains utterly impossible to state precisely and 
positively of what the work of Moses really consisted; 
since, however unwelcome the truth may be, not even the 
ten commandments may be regarded as actually formu¬ 
lated by Moses. We have here only an inverted conclusion 
from effect to cause. ’ In theological discussion the aver¬ 
age minister invents illogical issues, to inflame the minds 
of his hearers. Denying a special revelation, I am charged 
with denying the sacred character of the Scriptures; deny¬ 
ing the deity of Christ, I am charged with denying the 
usefulness and beauty of his life. Reason must ever revere 


AN INQUISITIVE VISITOR. 


379 


the sacred impressions which the infinite Spirit hath made, 
and is making, on the mind and the heart of man, in awak¬ 
ening in him a sense of-his Creator’s will; nor less ac¬ 
knowledge the leadership of him who is first among the 
Cord’s begotten. I would for the sake of truth that the 
whole bible were subjected to-day to a thorough purging. 
It is a good book; but it might be made a much better one, 
if its absurdities, contradictions, immoralities, and even 
obscenities, were purged away. That ignorant people 
should claim God as its immediate author, we should of 
course expect, as similar claims are made for all the dif¬ 
ferent bibles of the world. But when I see men who pro¬ 
fessedly have sat under my instructions in schools and 
seminaries, making such claims, I feel offended as well as 
ashamed,—offended because of my love for the truth, and 
ashamed because of their real ignorance or insincerity. 
Let others do as they will; you, I hope, will not claim God 
as the author of a book which, to a large extent, might be 
greatly improved by the revision of a good man; and which, 
in no sense, calls for any other origin than a purely human 
and natural one. ’ ’ 

“My acquaintance with you, O Reason, has led me to 
refuse my assent to anything as having a miraculous origin 
for which a natural one maybe reasonably inferred; and to 
refuse my assent to the genuineness of a reported miracle, 
unless substantiated by evidence whose nature is like that 
which it is claimed to substantiate,—that is, unless the so- 
called miracle be substantiated by supernatural evidence. I 
do not believe that a miracle has ever occurred. I find a 
full and sufficient cause in man, nursed as he naturally is by 
the fostering care of God, for all that the bible contains. I 
claim the bible to be a holy book, because it deals with that 
which is most sacred and dear to the human heart; but I 
find in man, as I have said, a sufficient and reasonable cause 


3 8° 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


for whatever 1 find therein. I fully agree with you, O 
Reason, that there is nothing miraculous or supernatural 
about the origin of the ten commandments, nor any other 
portion of the bible ; nor do I teach my people that there is.” 

“ Your conduct meets my approbation ; "but I fear your 
brethren of the clergy will suspect you of trying to steal 
away their household gods, and your bishop of trying to 
remove the strongest sanction for his proud and superstitious 
claims.” 

“ Of that, O Reason, I can not speak. But painful as it 
may be, I will follow your guidance, and leave the results 
with God,—not the god Jahve of whom you have been speak¬ 
ing, but with God, the one and only Universal Father of all 
nations and worlds.” 

“ During almost every church service, you say: ‘ God 
spake these words and said, Thou shalt have no other gods 
before me.’ If, as you say, you do not believe that the ten 
commandments were given directly by God to Moses, do 
you not feel some hesitation, some conscientious scruples, 
when you utter these words ?” 

“ I confess, O Reason, that I do. But since as often and 
fully as possible I give the people to understand my belief 
concerning these matters, I comfort myself with the thought 
that I can not be justly charged with hypocrisy. Perhaps you 
would say that I am at least guilty of idly using the name of 
God; but I do not think you would, if you thoroughly con¬ 
sidered the matter.” 

“To take the name of God in vain, is certainly a great sin; 
but when I say this, as I do not mean the god of the super¬ 
stitious Greek, so do I not mean the god of the superstitious 
Israelite. The Israelitish conception of God, was but little 
if any different from that of the other uncivilized nations of 
those days. Their god gave Moses the ten commandments ; 
in like manner did the god of the Greeks give his decrees to 


AN INQUISITIVE VISITOR. 381 

Rhadamanthus. If Mouses had a difficult problem to solve, 
he sought the aid of his god ; in like manner did Minos 
repair to his deity, and ask his advice, when in similar dif¬ 
ficulties. When Moses wished to converse with his god, he 
went to the top of Mount Sinai ; so with the Greeks,—the 
home of their god, who was the father of the gods and men, 
was the cloud-enveloped Mount Olympus. The heathen 
gods were mighty in battle ; in like manner was the god of 
the Jews a man of war. As the various heathen gods were 
rivals, and actuated by* jealousy, so was it with the god of 
the Israelites, who said, ‘ Thou shalt not have any other gods 
before me.’ It were impossible that such a command could 
come from the one infinite and eternal God who knows ; as no 
finite being can, that He is God alone. The gods of the 
heathens were sometimes overcome ; so with the god of the 
Israelites, whose most sacred dwelling-place, the ark, was 
captured, and who could not drive out the inhabitants of the 
valley, because they had chariots of iron. They were also 
at times outwitted ; so with the god of the Israelites, of 
whom it is said, the devil having succeeded in destroying his 
plans, ‘ It repented the Lord that he had made man on the 
earth, and it grieved him at his heart.’ The gods of the 
heathens used to plot and deceive ; so with the god of the 
Israelites, who could purposely harden Pharoah’s heart, send 
a lying spirit to deceive Ahab the king, and, at another time, 
to deceive a prophet. As the heathen gods were supposed 
to enjoy the smell of sacrifices, and the sight of the victim’s 
blood, so with the god of the Israelites, who smells a sweet 
savor, and around whose altar the blood*of the victim is 
sprinkled ; for ‘ without the shedding of blood, there is no 
remission of sins.’ As the heathen gods were often at war 
one with another, so with the god of the Jews,—‘ And there 
was war in heaven ; Michael and his angels fought against 
the dragon.’ The Israelitish conception of God was that 


382 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


which was commonly held in those times, no better, no 
worse ; but it was infinitely inferior to that afterwards held 
by the noble minds of the Greeks and Romans. 

“ But when you say in 'the service, ‘ God spake these 
words and said,’ although in these words there is no literal 
truth whatever; yet, since you convey to the audience the 
idea that the one and only God gave the ten commandments 
directly to Moses, it would be speaking his name in vain, 
unless you gave the people to understand your belief in the 
matter. But, having done this, it would not be taking God’s 
name in vain, to read these words, though you disbelieve in 
their literal truth. However, to say with the lips one thing, 
and in the heart believe another, is a most dangerous prac¬ 
tice, and one which can not be too strongly condemned. It 
is hard to see how one who does not believe in the literal 
truth of these words, can consistently utter them. Here 
there is good reason for your hesitation, your conscientious 
scruples. I advise you to act with great care in the matter, 
lest in trying to save a little, you waste much.” 

“ Since you first began to visit me, O Reason, and ask me 
your searching questions, I have wished over and over I had 
never seen the work of the ministry ; but having entered it, 
it is hard to turn aside,—hard because of the difficulty 
experienced in falling readily into new lines of work, hard 
because of disavowing openly what you have as openly 
avowed, and hard because there are some holy things con¬ 
nected with such a life. In my heart I long for a pure and 
simple theology,—a theology rid of all the grossly anthro¬ 
pomorphic conceptions which prevail in all the churches of 
orthodoxy. I sometimes hope to see that day when the 
churches will shake off the filth of dark ages, and clothe 
themselves about with a more glorious clothing ; when 
priestly vestments will be no longer soaked in the blood of a 
vicarious sufferer, nor a soul be cast into hell because he 


AN INQUISITIVE VISITOR. 


383 


does not recognize in a human form the all-prevailing and 
infinite God. God have mercy on me, and direct my ways ! 
They are dubious and dark ; yet I will go along trusting in 
Him, to bring me into the way wherein I should go. Surely, 
O Reason, you can not think me worthy of censure.” 

“ Considering all things I do not. I recognize your 
difficult position, and can not but sympathize with you. Do 
not be discouraged. If you are honest, and continue to 
search after the truth, the way will appear more and more 
plain to you. The theology you speak of, will not be long 
in coming; but I fear its coming will not be in your day. 
The interests of powerful organizations are opposed to such 
a change. These vast bodies will hold their ground as long 
as possible, but little by little will they be forced to yield; 
and finally, pressed on all sides, they shall flee from the field, 
and truth shall claim the victory. It is natural enough 
that the priests of Christendom should teach their people 
that Christianity is the only divine religion, and that it will 
continue forever; for the priests of all other religions do 
likewise. It is to their interests thus to act. Christianity, 
like all the other great religions, is only a stepping-stone, a 
stage, a scaffolding, upon which, if the earnest and thought¬ 
ful man stand, he is better enabled to reach after pure 
theism. God leads the minds of men, step by step, into a 
simple and pure theology. Believe me, all .religions are, in 
a measure, useful for the time and place; they all vary as 
the minds of their adherents become enlightened; they all 
have earnest, though deluded, priests and bishops; and 
what is best of all, they all have something of good mixed 
with much that is evil. They all, though in a bloody and 
most repulsive way, offer a road to life; they all serve, in a 
measure, to strengthen the weak and despairing; and they 
give their adherents the hope of rejoining their friends after 
death. They all come professedly with a blessing for their 


3§4 


footprints of a sout. 


followers, and at times a real blessing is received; though 
not unfrequently the value of the blessing received, is more 
than outweighed by the attendant and consequent evils. 
To him who has no taste, the bitter is as the sweet; so to 
the unenlightened mind, the greatest of errors may appear 
the profoundest of truth. It is to the ignorant, therefore, 
that the religions of the day appear dressed in such attract¬ 
ive clothing; the thoughtful soul can find in them but little 
attraction for him. Indeed, the prevailing religions are 
painful to him. He sees the cunning and hypocrisy of 
those who sell the wares, as well as the worthlessness of 
most of the wares that are sold. Therefore he does not in¬ 
vest. It is because of this that the really great and pure 
souls stand alone in the world: they have but little sympa¬ 
thy from the age they live in. This is as true of Socrates 
as of Christ; as true of one age as of another. By his ac¬ 
cusers Socrates was thought an infidel; so in all probability 
was Christ. What was true of them, has been, and will be, 
true of their noble and pure-minded brethren. Truly 
enough may it be said of such, they are not of this world; 
yet on them do the hopes of this world hang. You remem¬ 
ber the passage, ‘ In the beginning was the Word and the 
Word was God.’ Here we have a good example of how 
shamefully and wickedly translators do bend the sense of 
the original to suit their own crooked minds. It should 
read, In the beginning was reason and reason was God. In 
such a rendering of the original, we would have a positive 
truth. God is reason; and, therefore, let me advise you to 
live a reasonable life. As much as possible seek a reason 
for all you say and do: for all your faith, your hope, and 
your fears. Follow after reason, let her not depart out of 
thy sight; and the Infinite Reason shall shine forth more 
and more, making thy night bright as the day. 

“ I have said all 1 will for the present. When I come 


AN INQUISITIVE VISITOR, 


385 


again to question you, I hope that I may find you still 
more ready to receive me, and listen to my advice. In all 
your ways, be thoughtful, studious, honest, truthful, and 
sincere. He who thus lives, lives most religiously, and, 
in due time, becomes most like God.” 

As this noble visitor left him, Merton could not but ad¬ 
mit, in his mind, the beauty, simplicity, harmony, and 
reasonableness of his visitor’s remarks; and he determined, 
by God’s help, to follow more fully than ever the advice 
he had received. 

Before the gods had yet been born, 

When Chaos ruled and Night; 

Before creation had its form, 

Its harmony and right; 

When law was not, nor time, nor season 
Alone was universal Reason. 

Throughout the wide unbounded tomb, 

Was hid naught from thy sight; 

Thou didst arise, dispel the gloom 
With thy all-searching light; 

For God thou wert, and God was Reason, 

And by thee all was made in season. 

(H.T. B.) 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 


PRIESTLY AUTHORITY, CEEIBACY, AND MORALS. 

I can not sing: I’ll weep, and word it for thee; 

For notes of sorrow, out of tune, are worse 
Than priests and fanes that lie. 

Ye have angels’ faces, but heaven knows your hearts. 
The more shame for ye! holy men I thought ye, 

Upon my soul, two reverend cardinal virtues; 

But cardinal sins and hollow hearts, I fear ye. 

Mend them, for shame. 


{Shakspere: Cym., Hen. viii.) 

diocesan convention was in session. At the hotel 



table, Merton sat opposite the Rev. Mr. Blunt, who 
was like himself a clerical delegate to the convention. Dur¬ 
ing their conversation, while at dinner, Merton was asked 
by this gentleman, whose little girl he had with him. 

“It is my own little girl, sir,” replied Merton. 

“O excuse me,” he replied; “I had forgotten that you 
belonged to the married clergy. But it is as unnatural for 
me to think of a clergyman as married, as to think of an 
angel with a hod on his shoulders.” 

“If the stories of the priests, sir,” answered Merton, 

‘ ‘for the past eighteen hundred years are true, it would be 
a great improvement on the work of angels, should they 
all be furnished with first-class hods; for a diligent hod- 
carrier does a worthy and noble work compared to that of 
the angel who sits for all eternity playing a fiddle or a 
golden harp.” 

“Be careful, doctor,” he answered; “I speak the mind 
of the church when I say, that no priest should have a 
woman tied to his coat-tail. The church knows well that a 
woman only adds to his care by bringing him a brood of 
young children, and to his troubles by the use of her mis¬ 
chief-making tongue. I don’t think that a married priest 


CELIBACY AND MORALS. 


387 


should be given work in the church of God.” 

“You are very severe, sir,” replied Merton. “I can ac¬ 
count for your severity only on the ground of your belong¬ 
ing to a class of men said to be eunuchs from their birth, 
and who are therefore greatly despised by women in gen¬ 
eral; or to a class of eunuchs who are so made for the sake 
of the kingdom of bishops, having been cast out of that 
higher and nobler kingdom, the kingdom of women. 
Only on one or the other of these suppositions, can I give 
a reasonable explanation of your antipathy to woman.” 

“Doctor Merton, are you a priest of the church!” 

“First, I am a man, sir, and the son of a man; sec¬ 
ondly, I am a priest, the work of a bishop. I believe with 
my whole soul that no person professing to be a man, 
should be given work in the church of God, unless he is in 
reality what he professes to be. There is no room in the 
church for monstrosities.” 

“Pardon me, doctor,” he answered; “but I thought I 
was talking to a priest. Allow me to ask, how many 
children have you?” 

“I have three, sir, all bearing my name.” 

‘ ‘Ach! I never knew a married priest who hadn’t a dozen.” 

“Pardon, sir, but is it not better to have a dozen, and 
labor for their sustenance and protection, than as the celi¬ 
bate to be. the father of an indefinite number unprovided 
for, and called after the names of their several mothers?” 

“Do you mean to insult me, Doctor Merton?” 

“I mean what I say, sir. You have insulted my wife, 
who if there is a heaven, is in it. That’s more than insult¬ 
ing me. ’ ’ 

Here was another priest as ignorant of God’s real rev¬ 
elation, as of history and science in general. How can a 
celibate hold up his head in the presence of a true man or 
woman acquainted with the history of the church to which 


3 88 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


he belongs ! The annals of every period are loaded down 
with accounts of their debaucheries and crimes. 

Ratherius, an Italian bishop of the tenth century, says, 
if he were to prohibit unchaste priests from administering 
the sacraments of the church, there would be none left in 
the church, except boys; and these, he says, would have to 
be expelled if bastards were put out. In the days of celi¬ 
bacy, it was common for the beastly, priestly fathers to trans¬ 
mit their ecclesiastical offices to their unlawful-born children; 
and for centuries princes levied a tax called “ Culagium,” as 
a licence for priests to keep concubines. The morals of the 
clerical celibates sank far below the morals of laymen. Pope 
John was condemned for adultery, and incest; the abbot- 
elect of St. Augustine at Canterbury, was found, in 1171, to 
have, in a single village, seventeen illigitimate children ; the 
abbot of St. Pelayo, in Spain, was proved, in 1130, to have 
kept no less than seventy concubines; the bishop of Liege was 
proved to have had no less than sixty-five illigitimate children. 
In the days of celibacy, nunneries were turned into places of 
prostitution and infanticide; and incest was so common that 
the most stringent laws were passed against clergymen living 
with their mothers or sisters ; and the employment of the 
confessional for the purposes of debauchery, was a frequent 
and common crime. The papal legate to England, in the 
12th century, had only just ended his fearful denunciation of 
the unchaste lives of the priests, when he himself was dis¬ 
covered in flagrante delictu with a courtesan ; and the 
atrocious immoralities prevailing in the monasteries, at the 
time of their suppression, are well known to all. Indeed, it 
was the custom of many laymen to insist on their priests 
taking concubines, in order to secure the safety of their 
wives and daughters. Says Stubbs, in his Constitutional 
History of England : “ The history of celibacy, in Eng¬ 

land as elsewhere, is indeed tender ground ; the benefits 


CELIBACY AND MORALS. 


389 


which it is supposed to secure, are the personal purity of the 
individual, his separation from secular ways and interests, 
and his entire devotion to the work of God and the church. 
But the results, as legal and historical records show, were 
very different. Instead of personal purity, there is a long 
story of licenced and unlicenced concubinage, and appendant 
to it, much miscellaneous profligacy, and a general low tone 
of morality in the very point that is supposed to be secured. 
The treatment of such moral evils was left to the church 
courts; the church courts became centres of corruption.” 
Says Kurtz: “Between the fourth and ninth centuries,the 
unmarried clergy were frequently chargeable with unclean¬ 
ness, adultery, and unnatural vices. ” The same author, 
speaking of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, says: 
‘ ‘The moral condition of the clergy was sufficiently sad. The 
bishops commonly lived in open concubinage. The lower 
clergy followed their example, and in many cases paid for 
this indulgence a yearly tax to their bishops. To this ar¬ 
rangement the people made no objection; in fact, it secured 
their wives and daughters from the temptations of the con¬ 
fessional. Unnatural vices were also common among the 
clergy. ’ ’ Speaking of this, Burnet says: ‘ ‘Anselm carried it 
further, and simply imposed it on all the clergy; yet himself 
laments that the crime against nature was very common 
among the clergy, and even public; which was also the 
complaint of Petrus Damiani, in Pope Gregory’s time.” 
Bernard says that this sin was frequent among the bishops 
of his time. And says L,ecky: “It appears from the 
uniform testimony of the ecclesiastical writers that ecclesias¬ 
tical immorality in the eighth and three following centuries 
was little if at all less outrageous than in other periods.” 

In the study of the history of the church, Merton,after 
much reluctance, was led to the conclusion that if the 
divine character of the Christian church were to stand or 


3QO 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


fall according to the purity or impurity of its ministers, it 
would fall with a more tremendous crash than that of the 
building whose pillars Sampson pulled out. Nor did Merton 
believe that in modern days the percentage of ministers who 
are guilty of immoralities of different kinds, is any less than 
that of other professional men guilty of similar sins. Nor 
is it to be doubted that where the guilt of one clergy¬ 
man is established, the crimes of very many are hidden. It 
is to the interest of the guilty parties to hide such crimes. 
Merton might not believe that the lives of clergymen are 
any worse than those of average citizens; but from what he 
knew of them, he could not think they were any better. 

The coming into the town of a straggling, Irish, Roman 
missionary, tended not a little to increase the boldness of 
Merton’s preaching. In the usual manner of Roman 
priests, the missioner lauded the power and excellency of 
his own communion, and scoffed at the professions of the 
ministers of all other denominations. Rome was the only 
ark of safety: she alone had the priesthood and the sacra¬ 
ments; she alone was the church of Christ. The children 
of Rome could rely on the protection of the holy Mother of 
God, while the children of all other denominations were ex¬ 
posed to the wrath of heaven. The Episcopal Church could 
speak of catholicity only in the absence of those who knew the 
meaning of the term. Calling one’s self a priest, is no proof 
of possessing priestly power; wearing priestly garments 
gives no proof of having that divine agency which God con¬ 
fers on the ministers of the church, only through divinely ap¬ 
pointed hands. Not every man who uses the forms of prayer, 
worships God ;not every minister who acts the role of a priest, 
accomplishes any true priestly work. Who but God can make 
a priest,or give me power to absolve from sin! And how can 
God give me the power except through agents known to be 
divinely commissioned. The Episcopal Church can only 


CKUBACY AND MORALS. 


391 


mimic the forms and ceremonies of the Holy Roman Church 
as its ministers possessed no priestly power or authority from 
Christ. It was made by the profligate Henry VIII, and 
like him, was guilty of heinous schism and great heresy. 
Episcopal ministers were “hireling gospelers,” and the 
Episcopal Church “an apostatized sect.” Its orders could 
be traced to the farce of the “Nags-Head tavern,” and her 
apostolic succession to the “female pontiff, Queen Bess.” 
‘‘Poor man,” said he,referring to Merton, “in a few days 
the grave-worms shall house in his addled brain. What 
then will be left of Dr. Merton, with his six degrees from 
the universities?” Thus he raved in personal abuse, and 
tirades against the different Christian denominations of the 
land. 

How should Merton answer this vapory priest? Should 
it be after his own heart? or after the manner of the Epis¬ 
copal Church? If after the manner of the Episcopal Church, 
he could only do as others had done, for the last three hun¬ 
dred years, and the bone of contention would still remain; 
if after the manner of his own heart, he would attack the 
missioneds premises, and thus expose himself to the ire of 
his own bishop. Merton had no doubt whatever that to be 
in full agreement with the historical Christian church, a 
priest should be able to trace his orders to a source recog¬ 
nized by that church, as qualified and competent to confer 
such orders; but, at the .same time, he was satisfied that the 
claims of the historical church were utterly unwarranted, 
unreasonable, and based upon superstition; in other words, 
that it spoke great things of which it had proved, and could 
prove, nothing. Knowing these things, he determined to 
be true to himself, to answer the Roman missioner out of 
his own heart, and show the good-for-nothing character of 
what the missioner labored so hard to determine. If the 
missioner had not proved his assertions to the .satisfaction 
of the people, he had failed in his endeavor; if he had 


392 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


proved his assertions, he would only have succeeded in 
showing that he was in possession of that which an honor¬ 
able man would hasten to get rid of. 

His insulting assertions appeared May 27th, and by the 
evening of the next day, Merton had written his answer, 
had had it printed in a large four-paged circular, and put 
into nearly every house in Flumville. 

‘ ‘The vulgar, ’ ’ said Merton, ‘ ‘always rail at knowledge. 
The undeveloped intellect manifests tfie mind of a child, 
but the passions of a brute. The Roman priest has given 
sufficient proof that he is one of those who deal in magic and 
sorcery. No greater aid can infidelity have than that which 
is given it when a man passing as an ordained priest, shows 
himself to be an ordained blackguard. The Roman mis- 
sioner says he is a ‘religiosus/ I have heard of them before. 
At the Council of Constance there were no less than eighteen 
thousand such; and in their train there were more than 
seven hundred prostitutes. Pope Alexander was another 
‘religiosus. ’ In early life he became a cardinal; he was pub¬ 
licly censured for his gross debauchery; he had five ac¬ 
knowledged children by the Roman matron Vanozia; he 
succeeded to the papacy through the grossest bribery, buy¬ 
ing the votes of twenty out of the twenty-five cardinals; he 
plunged without scruple or remorse into the practice o. 
every vice, and the perpetration of every crime; the papal 
palace was a scene of Bacchanalian orgies; licentious songs, 
swelled by a chorus of revellers, echoed through its ban¬ 
queting halls; indecent plays were acted in the presence of 
the pontiff; he indulged in licentiousness of the grossest de¬ 
scription; he was accused of incest with his own daughter 
Lucretia; in the end he was poisoned by his own son Caesar. 
‘The crimes of this pope/ says Guicciardini, ‘placed him 
on a level with the beasts that perish/ 

“The Roman missioner seems greatly concerned about 
England, and the vicar of a church there. The former, 


CELIBACY AND MORALS. 


393 


sometime or other, has undoubtedly excreted him ; and the 
rector to whom he refers, was never guilty of blasphemy, at 
least against the laws of nature. The accusation he brings 
against this vicar, is proof, at least, of the cerebral activity 
of the latter. Not so is it with the Roman missioner : he is 
not troubled with such molecular motion. Being a primitive 
man, his intellectual activity is chiefly confined to imitation. 
In the words of Spencer : ‘ To such minds this kind of in¬ 

tellectual provender is alone available ; and to feed them on 
higher kind, would be as impracticable as to feed a cow on 
meat.’ Like the Houssa negro who changes not, so the 
Roman missioner can say : ‘ Because same ting do for my 

father, same ting do for me.’ The father died adoring a 
goddess, and the son still lives, with the Pope’s big-toe in 
his mouth. 

“ He says he is a citizen of the United States. I think 
he must be mistaken. A citizen of the United States is one 
who swears allegiance to the laws and government of the 
same. This is impossible for the Roman missioner to do, 
because in his Trentine creed he swears allegiance to the 
Bishop of Rome, and because this execrable bishop claims 
the power to absolve from the obligations of an oath. So if 
the Roman missioner has sworn allegiance to the United 
States, he has deceived nobody: the United States know 
what such allegiance is worth. 

“ He asks what will become of my scholarship after the 
grave-worms enter into my brain. First, I shall have enough 
left for the worms, after I have done with him ; secondly, I 
do not trouble myself in the least about grave-worms,—they 
are meet food for the cadaverous soul of a Roman mis¬ 
sioner. So I, too, say, let the dead bury the dead. I would 
say, however, that I have no need of apprehension, if 
Romanism be true. For should a man find himself in hell, 
he will by Dante’s account, be in good company, since the 


394 FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUT. 

popes of Rome are there. They will certainly use their 
magic, and quiet the lurid flames. Or, it may be, since they 
are fit fire-eaters, they will kindly devour it all. On the 
other hand, should some poor, straggling wretch find him¬ 
self in a second-class room in heaven, occupying the same 
quarters with a Roman missioner, there continuing his incan¬ 
tation and magic, I doubt not that he might seek to change 
his abode, for a first-class room in hell; for where, in what 
Tartarean caverns shall man find a deeper hell than in the 
darkness and superstition of Roman priestcraft ? In the 
words of Buckle, ‘The power of the Roman church has 
always been the crying evil of every country.’ 

“ It is well known to-day that nearly all the advance¬ 
ment made in science of every kind, and nearly all the im¬ 
provement in constitutional liberty, and in the general wel¬ 
fare of the poor, are found among those people who laugh 
at the papacy and at all its pretensions. 

“ The air of the United States is poisonous to Roman¬ 
ism. Before the religiosi cry for water to cool their burn¬ 
ing tongues, and there be found none, I would advise them 
to prepare for the day of judgment that is fast coming upon 
the Roman hierarchy. 

“ The Roman missioner says I show but little care for my 
priesthood. I can assure him that it is more than five years 
since I have troubled myself about such matters as that. 
To-day I delight in being a man, honest, sincere, truthful, 
— a believer in science, and in God as the common pos¬ 
session of the laity, if not of the priesthood. So little do I 
think of the blasting papacy, and its blasphemous preten¬ 
sions,— so little do I think of hierarchical pretensions in 
general, that had I the free choice, I would open my pulpit 
to any sincere lover of truth, even though a Zoroastrian. 
If the Roman missioner asks me, where shall truth be 
found, I answer that the greatest body of truth, and that 


CELIBACY AND MORALS. 


395 


which is necessary to the correct understanding of any 
other truth, is found in the scientific world. Of this truth 
the Roman missioner evidently knows nothing; and, there¬ 
fore, he knows nothing of any truth. He mistakes super¬ 
stition for truth. 

“ Man may rejoice that Romanism is passing rapidly 
away. In the words of Laing: * It has no more chance in 
the contest with science than George Stephenson’s cow 
would have, if it stood on the rail and tried to stop the 
progress of the locomotive.’ 

“Protestantism is a normal movement, a natural protest 
against the cunning, the lying, the venality, the debauchery 
of the Roman priesthood. In the words of Spencer: 
‘ Those pious knaves never rob save in the name of Allah.’ 
Priestly influence serves to degrade rather than elevate. 
The church which in 1609, could advise the cutting of the 
throats of a hundred and forty thousand Moriscoes, and 
whose agents could butcher the helpless refugees, ravish 
the women, and throw their helpless babes into the sea, as 
Buckle tells us the church of the Roman missioner did, will 
never make much inroads upon the American people. In 
speaking against the Anglican communion, the missioner 
strains at a gnat; while in accepting the creeds of Pius IV 
and Pius IX, he swallows a camel. But how can a person 
reason with a man who gives no evidence of‘power to judge 
between superstition and truth ! He belongs to that great 
army of priests and medicine-men of whom it may be truly 
said, in the words of Spencer: ‘ Their extreme credulity, 
like that of the savage, shows us the result of undeveloped 
ideas of causation and law. Any story, however monstrous, 
is believed; and any explanation, however absurd, is 
accepted.’ But I presume that the Roman missioner cares 
little for science or philosophy, as he is sure of a good liv¬ 
ing by offering masses for souls in purgatory,— a place 


396 FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUI«. 

which the skill of his brethren has invented for the oc¬ 
casion. 

“In conclusion, the best wish I can make for the Roman 
missioner, is that he may cast aside his priestly garments, 
enter some real school of learning, and hear the voice of 
God as he reveals himself in the harmonious operations of 
the universal whole. Then will he become a preacher of 
righteousness, and be no longer a priest of superstition. 
No longer then will he uphold the banner of a church 
which for more than eighteen hundred years has declared 
good to be evil, and evil to be good, as best suits its own 
selfish purposes. In the words of Goethe’s devil: 

'•Die Kirch ’ allcin, meinc lieben Frauen , 

Kann ungerechtes Gut verdauen' ” [Faust 2840.) 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

REASON PREVAILS. 

Eadem ratio, cum est in hominis mente conjirmata et conjecta, lex 
est. (Cicero.) 

And that same reason when once it is confirmed and perfect¬ 
ed in man’s mind, becomes law— 

iT soon became evident that Merton’s controversy with 
the Roman missioner widened the breach already exist¬ 
ing between him and his diocesan. Merton’s nature 
appeared to be undergoing as it were the throes of parturi¬ 
tion, in its efforts to burst the barriers which confined him, 
and bring him forth to the light. 

While in this mental agony, Merton received a visit 
from Reason. “I am sorry’’ said Reason, ‘ ‘to find you in so 
great distress of mind; but pain and pleasure are very near 
related. The highest enjoyment is ever preceded by the 
acutest pain. The mother drains her cup of pain, before 
she tastes her cup of bliss. To him who is born and edu¬ 
cated in superstition, it must be said to-day, as of old, ‘Ye 
must be born again.’ You must break through the barriers 
which confine you, and drop the load of superstition which 
crushes you. Either enjoy the benefits of a child of Super¬ 
stition, by a faithful performance of those duties which the 
dark monster imposes on you, or as a true child of Nature, 
follow the dictates of universal reason, leaving the conse¬ 
quence with God. This is undoubtedly hard for you to 
do. In the occupation you follow, you are a member of a 
powerful corporation actuated by common interests; and 
while you are true to those interests, you can not fail to 
get bread to eat and clothing to wear. On the other hand, 
should you refuse to uphold those interests, that ‘Corporate 
Animal’ will cut you off from its fleshly self, and if possible 
trample you under its cloven feet, and leave your mangled 
remains as food for the vultures. But what then? Does 

397 


39» 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


life consist of food and raiment ? Is this dark and painful 
existence the end of all activity ? The highest duty of a 
true man, is first of all to be true to himself — to his own 
convictions of right, as impressed on him by the Infinite 
Mind urging him onward to a more exalted life. You must 
choose between reason and superstition: ‘you can not 
serve God and mammon.’ Let your decision be deter¬ 
mined by motives of personal interests, and be a follower of 
mammon; or let your decision be determined by your con¬ 
sciousness of duty, and be a follower of righteousness and 
God. You are not the one to enjoy deceiving or being de¬ 
ceived. A short time ago, you remember, you were visited 
by three clergymen who, for more than an hour, argued in 
favor of the deity of Christ, and the literal inspiration of 
the Scriptures, and asserted the doctrine that the man who 
rejects the deity of Christ, must be eternally damned. You 
remember it was but a few days after this, when one of 
these same clergymen wrote you a letter, confessing his 
disbelief in the deity of Christ, and in the exclusive inspira¬ 
tion of the Scriptures, at the same time praying you to keep 
to yourself this confession, on the ground that he would 
suffer, should it become known. There are very many 
thousands who would readily acknowlege their disbelief, 
were they not afraid of the consequences; but I say unto 
you again, ‘Ye can not serve two masters,— ye can not 
serve God and mammon.’ I know there is a superstitious 
feeling which makes you hesitate to leave the church in 
which you were born; but the church should receive the 
obedience of the reasonable man, not in proportion to its 
assumptions and claims, but in proportion to the amount of 
unquestionable truth it possesses. Now, that which the 
church declares is the most exact symbol of its faith, is the 
Nicene Creed; and it is to this creed that it professes 
authority for demanding the obedience of the whole world. 


REASON PREVAILS. 


399 


Now, it is evident that the reasonableness of this demand, 
must depend on two things: 

“i: On the reasonableness of the creed it would im¬ 
pose; 

“2: On the power of the church to discriminate be¬ 
tween truth and error. 

“ When we come to the examination of the Nicene Creed, 
the great symbol of orthodoxy, we find that only the first 
clause, which refers exclusively to God the Father, has ever 
received, or does receive, universal assent. It will be ad¬ 
mitted that if the balance of this creed be believed at all, it 
must be by Christians exclusively. A slight examination of 
the origin and growth of this creed, will better enable us to 
understand its value as a symbol of faith 
“The original Nicene Creed was formulated at Nice, A. D. 
325, by three hundred and eighteen bishops convened at the 
summons of the Emperor Constantine. In this council 
there were not less than three antagonistic parties, —the 
homoousian, the homoiousian, and the Origenian. The ho- 
moousian, which to-day represents the orthodox party, in 
this council was in a decided minority The majority of the 
bishops headed by Eusebius of Caesarea, followed the lead 
of Origen who represented the liberal party, while not a few 
were homoiousians, or followers of Arius, who represented 
the more radical party. The result of this council was a 
victory for the homoousians. This victory was brought 
about through the influence of the presiding emperor, the 
oratory of Athanasius, and the fear, on the part of many, of 
deposition, or of giving offence to the emperor. Only three 
were brave enough to refuse subscription to this creed of 
Nice,—Arius, Theonas, and Secundus; and these, for their re¬ 
fusal, were exiled into Illyria. 

“Thus the Nicene Creed is a child of force, political in¬ 
fluence, and oratorical persuasion. 


400 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


“But even this creed was not unreasonable enough to sat¬ 
isfy the ghostly minds of the one hundred and fifty bishops 
who formed the Second General Council of Constantinople. 
This council, which convened A. D. 381, both added to, and 
took from, the Nicene Creed. The words, ‘ God of God/ 
they took out of the Creed; and they added the formula 
consisting of the words, 1 the Lord and Giver of Life, Who 
proceedeth from the Father, Who with the Father and the 
Son together is worshipped and glorified.’ These words 
were added to show the equality of the Holy Ghost with 
the Father and the Son. 

“ But not even this creed of Constantinople was so re¬ 
pugnant to reason as that which you confess, and call the 
Nicene Creed. For neither the Nicene nor the Constantino- 
politan asserted the procession of the Holy Ghost from the 
Son. This second addition to the genuine Nicene Creed is 
uncertain in origin; but its first undisputed appearance is in 
the creed of the Third Council of Toledo, A. D. 589. It is 
this addition to the Creed of Constantinople, thus made by 
a provincial and obscure council, which caused, in 1054, the 
great schism between the Eastern and Western Churches, 
and fills them to-day with mutual bitterness; and it is 
through the confession of this addition, called the ‘ filioque 
clause,’ that the Eastern Church charges the Western with 
heresy. So the creed you confess should be called the creed 
of the ghostly fathers who assembled at Toledo, A. D. 589. 
It is certainly not the genuine Nicene Creed; it certainly is 
not the genuine Constantinopolitan; and certainly its first 
undisputed confession was made by the Council of Toledo 
in 589. Is it possible that such a creed as you confess, 
should be stamped with the seal of eternal truth ! The fact 
that it was the result of long-continued and most bitter 
strife, beginning in the very earliest oges of the church, and 
ending as we have said above, is most conclusive proof of 


REASON PREVAILS. 


401 


the lack in those days of Christian unanimity; and the fact 
of the existence to-day of Unitarianism, and other unortho¬ 
dox faiths, is the most conclusive proof of existing lack of 
Christian unanimity. So then, the creed which you profess, 
with the exception of that part which refers exclusively to 
God the Father, not only does not receive the assent of 
humanity in general, but not even that of the general 
Christian church. As the controversies through which this 
creed has passed, is conclusive proof that, at its different 
stages, it was not in general regarded as a reasonable docu¬ 
ment; so is its present contents such as no reasonable man 
can give hearty assent to. 

“ The church being thus unable to expect the obedience 
of the reasonable man, on the ground of the confession of 
faith which she offers him, has she the right to expect his obe¬ 
dience, on the ground of her reliability as a judge of the 
truth ? That she has not this right, is sufficiently evident 
from the contradictory judgments of the different commun¬ 
ions which form the Christian church. The Eastern Church 
charges the Western with the guilt of schism and heresy, 
and the Western Church charges the Eastern with the guilt 
of schism. The Roman Church charges the whole Angli¬ 
can Communion with the guilt of schism, and denies the 
validity of its orders; and the Anglican Communion charges 
the Roman Church with corruption and heresy, and affirms 
that it alone is the cause of the disrupted and schismatic 
state of the Christian church in general; and it also charges 
the various Protestant bodies with schism, or heresy, or 
both. Thus there is not a Christian body whose judgment 
is unreservedly received by another. 

“ The treatment the church has given the great scientists 
of the world, is well known to every reader of history. It 
was the church which could accuse of magic and heresy the 
most learned man of the Middle Ages, Roger Bacon, and 


402 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUT. 


keep him shut up within prison walls, for the most of his 
life. It was the church which, in 1615, could summon 
Galileo before the bar of the Inquisition, and force him to 
renounce truths that are now generally accepted ; it was the 
church which, in 1633, could cite the same philosopher, now 
aged and infirm, before the same cruel Inquisition, and 
through its agency, utter the following decree : 

“ ‘ By the desire of His Holiness and of the most eminent 
Lord Cardinals of this supreme and universal Inquisition, 
the two propositions of the stability of the sun and the 
motion of the earth, were qualified by the theological quali¬ 
fiers as follows : 

“‘1: The proposition that the sun is the centre of the 
world, and immoveable from its place, is absurd, philosoph¬ 
ically false, and formally heretical ; because it is expressly 
contrary to Holy Scripture. 

“ ‘ 2: The proposition that the earth is not the centre of 
the world, nor immoveable ; but that it moves and also with 
a diurnal motion, is absurd, philosophically false, and the¬ 
ologically considered, at least erroneous. 

“ ‘We decree that the book of the dialogues of Galileo 
Galilei, be prohibited by edict; we condemn you to the prison 
of this office during our pleasure ; we order you for the next 
three years to recite once a week the seven penitential 
psalms.’ 

“ And it was the church which, then and there, could 
wring from the old and withered philosopher the following 
confession, though it perjured him in the eyes of the world: 

“‘With a sincere heart and unfeigned faith I abjure, 
curse, and detest, the said errors and heresies (viz., that the 
earth moves, etc.) I swear that I will never in future say or 
assert anything verbally, or in writing, which may give rise 
to a similar suspicion against me. 


REASON PREVAILS. 


403 


“ ‘ I Galileo Galilei have abjured as above with my own 
hand.’ 

“ It was the church which, on the conclusion of this trial, 
could conduct the terrified old man' from his place of judg¬ 
ment to the prison of the Inquisition, and keep him virtually 
a prisoner the remainder of his life. It was the church 
which could bury the broken-hearted philosopher’s body in 
an obscure corner of the grave-yard, and refuse his friends 
permission to erect a monument over his grave. 

“It is safe to say that with the known facts of history before 
us, no reasonable man can admit that the church should be 
obeyed, on the plea of the reliability of her judgment; for 
these facts unquestionably prove that no judge ever sat on a 
bench, whose judgment was more fraught with error than the 
judgment of the Christian church has been. 

“ I say again, ‘ Ye can not serve two masters, ye can not 
serve God and mammon.’ If you would be a follower of 
righteousness and God, you must break through the barriers 
which confine you, and speak the thoughts of your soul, as 
impressed on you by the God of nature, revealing himself 
in every movement of the cosmos. He who would be true to 
God and man, must first of all be true to himself. I must 
leave you now. My parting word is : do what in your soul 
you believe to be right, and leave the consequences with 
God.” 

“ One question, O Reason, before you leave. If during the 
last eighteen years you have had such influence over me, 
why during the last eighteen hundred have you not had 
more over.the church ? Surely you are not unknown to the 
different parts of it! ” • 

“ It is true I am not an entire stranger to the church; 
but my presence in it is almost as unwilling, as unwillingly # 
received. At times it apparently receives my instructions ; 
but it immediately proceeds to distort and change them to 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL, 


404 

suit its own desires and ends. In a few instances I have 
found ready minds, and willing hearts, and the seed I have 
sown in them, have brought forth abundantly ; but even in 
such cases they are generally cut down by the scythes of the 
bishops, before they have yielded a tithe of what they might 
have produced. Ever since the order of priests and medi¬ 
cine-men has been established, you can with as much safety 
touch the scorpion’s tail, as the interests of a bishop. They 
are so deeply pledged, and their interests are so wholly de¬ 
pendent on the dogmas they inculcate, that they strive as 
zealously to secure their safety as the heathen to secure the 
safety of his penates, or the drowning man to get air to 
breathe. Dogma and Superstition are the sovereign eccle¬ 
siastical powers ; Reason is offered in the church only a 
subordinate position, and such I can not accept. Bacon 
expresses a partial truth when he says : ‘If I proceed to 
treat of theology, I shall step out of the bark of human 
reason, and enter the ship of the church. Neither will the 
stars of philosophy, which have hitherto so nobly shone on 
us, any longer give us their light.’ There is a fallacy, how¬ 
ever, in this saying of Bacon ; for however dark the heavens 
over the head of the average theologian, theology can only 
flourish when the stars of philosophy shine most brightly on 
it. Theology is without prejudice or sordid interest, theo¬ 
logians are prompted by both. 

“ I have answered your question. You are an apt pupil, 
yet I must leave you. As Kreeshna said to Arjoon, so say 
I unto thee: ‘ Let the motive be in the deed, and not in the 
event. Be free from duplicity, and stand firm in the path 
of truth. Be not one whose motive for action is the hope 
of reward. Let not thy life be spent in inactivity. Per¬ 
form thy duty, and abandon all thoughts of the conse¬ 
quence.’ ” 

“ With all the pain you have given me, O Reason, I can 


REASON PREVAILS. 


405 


not be other than thankful to you for what you have done 
for me. You have opened my eyes to see in a finer light 
the God of love; and my ears to hear more harmonious and 
heavenly sounds than the dissonant clangors of supersti¬ 
tion. I intend to follow your advice: I will break through 
the barriers which confine me, and drop the load of super¬ 
stition which crushes me, and leave the consequences with 
my God.” 

Notwithstanding the firmness of his resolution, Mer¬ 
ton’s soul was so heavy, and his mind so troubled at the 
thought of the many evils which he would have to un¬ 
dergo, resulting from ecclesiastical action, that he was 
driven to seek comfort from the Fountain of strength, and 
thus to address the Father and Savior of all: 

“Thee, thou Universal Spirit, will I adore. Thou only 
art holy, and from Thee alone, as from a bottomless and 
boundless ocean, does eternal truth forever flow. Oh, as 
that stream of virtue flows freely from thy adorable Self, 
may I drink forever; and as I drink, may my desire for 
Thee forever increase. O Thou unapproachable and most 
glorious Deity, transcendently holy and good,who changest 
not, who fillest the boundless depths of space, and movest 
the whole with thy immanent Spirit,to whom the whole and 
every part are dear; Thou who art well pleased with right¬ 
eousness, and seekest to restore the erring,—move, O 
righteous Being, the tremulous soul of man, with thy pure 
breath of life. Thou who art decked with majesty, whose 
diadem is the boundless universe, show thy glory to every 
longing eye; give quiet to the troubled .spirit, and comfort 
to the broken-hearted; and whether from the Red-man’s 
wigwam or Parsee fire, from Indian temple or Moham¬ 
medan shrine, from the disciples of Confucius or the fol¬ 
lowers of Jesus,—O hear the cry of him who calls for light 
and truth. 


406 footprints of a soul. 

‘ ‘Pass me not by, O my God. As Thou art Father of the 
whole, and all are dear to Thee, so let me be thy child. O 
my God, I look to Thee, I trust in Thee. Strengthen my 
mind, purify my heart, sanctify my soul, and ihake me able 
to feel thy influence, and ready to obey thy voice; and let 
me live in Thee, that when my life thus spent is over, I 
still may rest in hope. ’ ’ 

On the Death of Merton’s Little Son: 

A ray of light coming out of the gloom, 

A bud of life springing out of the tomb, 

We saw thee, though but for a day; 

A spark of fire falling down from above, 

A burst of joy from the Ocean of Love, 

Appearing, it passes away. 

A garden of flowers which bloom all the year, 

And trees of sweet fragrance which give the soul cheer, 
We loved thee,and found in thee rest; 

A wandering star sent forth by His might, 

A world all arranged out of chaos and night, 

Shone brightly, then died in the west. 

The darkness of death which has fallen on thee, 

Shall hide thee from perils most painful to me,— 

The heart finds peace in the tomb; 

Where the body of Sunshine, thy mother, finds rest, 
There, deep in the darkness, thou’rt near to the breast 
Whose spirit shall lighten the gloom. 

A gift from heaven, and my heart’s first delight, 

An image of God, though effaced in a night, 

My child, thou shalt never grow old; 

The eye of the Father shall show thee the way, 

The love of Jehovah may bring thee some day, 

To meet me, a lamb of the fold. 


(H. T. B.) 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

THE BARRIERS ARE BROKEN. 

Deus ipse faces animtimque ministrat — 

God himself will give us light and courage. 

( Vergil: Aen. v. 640.) 

Ick thue rec/it und schetie kcinen Feind. 

Wer gar zu viel bedenkl , xvird wenig leisten — 

I do right, and fear no enemy. 

Who hesitates too long, will accomplish little. {Schiller.) 
jyjERTON greatly loved the forms and ceremonies of his 
church. They were, as he believed, of much educa¬ 
tional value, apart from their worth in developing religious 
knowledge, and devotional strength.' But as much good is 
frequently found in connection with far more abundant 
evil; so in the case of good resulting from Merton’s ad¬ 
herence to the creed of his church,—it was more than 
neutralized by the accompanying evils. 

Matters incapable of proof, were represented as certain; 
statements evidently of human origin, were asserted to be 
divine; rational and beautiful sayings were found sparsely 
scattered among assertions absurd and nature-contradict¬ 
ing. The links of his creed Merton knew were, for the 
most part, of a very frangible material, and welded to¬ 
gether by superstitious hands, in days when Darkness 
ruled. Here and there he found a link of fine material and 
great strength; but Merton was sure the chain of his creed 
was unutterably weak. 

It was in those days that Merton received the follow¬ 
ing letter from his bishop: 

“My dear Dr. Merton: I feel very thankful to you 
for sending me back to my books again, as I have been 
absent from them for many years; but feeling that it is 
the deeply felt conviction of the very large majority of 

407 


40 S FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 

all Christian people that the Christian religion is supernatu¬ 
ral in origin and life, as no other religion ever was, or is to 
be, except the Patriarchal, and the Jewish, which it has suc^ 
ceeded and absorbed, I am pained that you have allowed 
yourself to speak of the Christian miracles so slightingly, or 
to press so unduly the natural as against the supernatural. 
And Bibliolatry has so far forgotten the genesis and history 
of The Book that in reminding men of their forgetfulness, 
and giving corrections to their errors, you have allowed 
yourself to go to the other extreme of exaggerating the un¬ 
certainties connected with it. Natural science does not in¬ 
clude all science. Do not uphold scientists in their narrow¬ 
ness. For instance, Huxley and Tyndall are always narrow; 
Darwin never. 

“ You are in danger of injuring souls in your intellectual 
work—in weakening their faith (justly and reasonably 
founded as the vast majority of Church people are con¬ 
vinced it is) in the Divinity of the Blessed Master, and in the 
special inspiration of the Ploly Scriptures. 

“ May I lovingly request you to be on your guard. In¬ 
tellectually restrain yourself from making statements which 
may weaken the faith of listening ears. And for the sake 
of the Blessed Master and his cause in His Church, and the 
hearts of the souls connected with your charge, give heed to 
the building them up in the faith, rather than explicitly to 
dissecting and analyzing and destroying by reason of exag¬ 
gerated truths. 

“ In your utterances from the pulpit, in all thanks for 
earnestness and faithfulness, I ask you to avoid those things 
that may give hurt to faithful souls of plain Church views. 

“ May God bless you in ail the good you are doing, and 
overrule by His Holy Spirit’s grace what error you are 
allowing yourself to commit, is the prayer 

Of your loving bishop, 

W. V. Dummkopf.” 


THE BARRIERS ARE BROKEN. 


409 


What could Merton reply to a man who had acknowl¬ 
edged that he had been many years away from his books? 
who could show his holiness and sanctity rather by the use, 
in his letters, of an archaic language, and a foolish display 
of capital letters, than by earnestly seeking after and dis¬ 
covering the real truth of the Infinite God, and teaching it 
to the deluded souls of his bishopric? What could he reply 
to a man who had asserted the broadness of Darwin, and 
the narrowness of Huxley? “Darwin,” said he, “is never 
narrow. ’ ’ True he was not; but Darwin, unlike the bishop, 
was wide enough to see the greatness and broadness of 
Huxley. No man was ever more admired by another than 
Huxley was by Darwin. In a letter to Huxley, Sept. 30th, 
1871, Darwin even quoted approvingly what he had heard 
Hooker say of Huxley: “When I read Huxley, I feel 
quite infantile in intellect.” “Darwin is never narrow,” 
said the bishop. Very true; but it was Darwin who said, 
in 1876: “By such reflections as these, I gradually came 
to disbelieve in Christianity as a divine revelation. This 
disbelief crept over me at a very slow rate, but was at last 
complete. ’ ’ ‘ ‘Darwin. ”said the bishop, ‘ ‘is never narrow. ’ * 
Very true; but it was Darwin who wrote to Lyell, “I con¬ 
ceive you might crush a leaden-headed old Don, as a Don, 
with more safety, than touch the finger of that Corporate 
Animal, the Clergy.” “Darwin,” said the bishop, “is 
never narrow.” Very true; but it was Darwin who wrote 
to Spencer, “Every one with eyes to see and ears to hear, 
ought to bow their knees to you, and I for one do.” And 
yet this same Spencer to whom Darwin thus did homage, 
has done more to tear to fragments the gigantic fabric of 
superstition in which the bishop worships, than any living 
man. The bishop, it must be admitted, called a very 
damaging witness in the person of Charles Darwin; al¬ 
though he was one of the most capable and best the world 


4 io 


footprints of a soul. 


has ever known. 

In reply Merton said but little except to call the bishop’s 
attention to the dangerous admissions he had made. In 
his letter the bishop had pleaded for the divinity of Christ, 
and the special inspiration of the Scriptures; and it was 
but natural: a bishop is a lord, though his reason is en¬ 
slaved. In such a case it is to be expected that he would 
make a strong plea for those principles on which his bodily 
comforts depend. If he should once admit his unbelief in 
the superstitions on which his office is founded, he would 
be forced instantly to vacate his residence, and lose a sub¬ 
stantial income. This a man like Merton’s bishop, could 
not be expected willingly to do. 

The correspondence did not tend to unite them in 
friendship, but rather to increase their mutual antipathy. 
It was more than sixteen months from that time, before 
they again penned a line to each other. 

When Merton came to execute his determination, he 
found it so unutterably painful as to surpass all powers of 
description. What was he about to do? His action would 
separate him from the church of his birth, and from the 
friends he so dearly loved. Even those of his own blood, 
called after the name of his father, would censure and up¬ 
braid him, and even accuse him of sin in doing the act he 
contemplated. The Bible which had long since ceased to 
be thought of by the most learned theologians of all 
lands, as a literally inspired book, was regarded by those 
most dear to him as the very autographic work of God. 
But though Merton believed that a much better bible than 
ours could be made by sifting the precious wheat out of 
the abundance of chaff contained in the many different 
bibles of the world, he yet felt convinced that those nearest 
to his soul would cry aloud, “thou reprobate!” So great 
was his suffering that he determined to strain his sense of 


THE BARRIERS ARE BROKEN. 


411 


duty, by writing his bishop the following letter: 

“Right Rev. Sir: From my youth up I have done scarce¬ 
ly anything else than study; and since 1867 I have always 
shaped my studies for the better preparation for the minis¬ 
try. My mind is now much disturbed. All men are more 
or less superstitious, often founding mountains of fear upon 
imaginary foundations. From my infancy Christ has been 
my meat and drink. Why should I now hesitate to turn 
aside from a work not at all desirable? My intelligence says, 
‘go;’ but the web which my life’s activities have woven 
about me, is hard, yes, painful to break. But, God help¬ 
ing me, around whom may my little world ever move, I feel 
I must break through it. That I should have much dis¬ 
quietude in ceasing to publish the theme of Calvary, seems 
childish, or at least superstitious; for seeking after God on 
purely Platonic grounds, I should be confident of beautify¬ 
ing my life’s temple, and of fitting it for the hoped-for 
future life. Thus while intellectually confident that the door 
to God is every point in space, and that earnestly seeking 
after Him, whatever may be the seeker’s creed or belief, 
brings a resulting, divine knowledge; yet this web of being, 
so persistent in holding me down to my youthful thoughts, 
tends to put great limitations upon my intellectual free¬ 
dom. 

“I do, as you know, belong to the extreme wing of the 
Broad-churcli party. My interpretation of Scripture and 
ritual is conducted on rationalistic grounds that I may 
avoid blaspheming Him whom I have always worshipped. 
In other words, instead of subjecting reason to the teach¬ 
ings of alleged revelation or of accepted dogmas, I insist 
most strenuously at all times on subjecting all teachings 
whatever to the decision of the reason, whether such teach¬ 
ings be that of alleged revelation, tradition, or ritual prac¬ 
tice. I do this that I may be one with science, and one 


412 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


with myself. He who does not this, is not one with science; 
nor is he any more one with himself. 

‘ ‘The extreme Broad Church has but little representa¬ 
tion in the United States; and the principles of my late book 
will bring me but little sympathy from any other party. 
It is far from a pleasure to me to dissever all my relations 
with the Episcopal Church, for I have received much lov¬ 
ing kindness therein; and I can never forget to my dying 
day the dear ones to whom I have ministered. Even in this 
painful letter, the saddest of my life, I pray for them, and 
hope to meet them, not again in the Episcopal Church, 
but in a better land where none shall be forced to choose be¬ 
tween yielding up the most sacred things of his life, or do¬ 
ing violence to reason and known facts. I am as fully 
convinced that the usual method of Scripture interpreta¬ 
tion is false,as I am of my own existence; and I am equally 
convinced that the rational method is true. In this belief 
I am not alone; rather am I in the company of the bright¬ 
est minds of all ages before and after Christ. Every dis¬ 
tinguishing doctrine of the church has passed through 
seas of blood; and frequently a belief has become enthron¬ 
ed against the reason by acquiescence through fear of 
further opposition, — for few are they who will not 
yield to threats of excommunication, exile, social ostracism, 
or death. 

“It is with much pain that I take the action I now 
take; but after years of consideration, I am fully persuad¬ 
ed that I owe it to the world, and most of all to myself. 

(1) ; “I do not believe in a complete, local, exclusive, 
or infallible revelation. 

(2) : “lean not believe in the doctrine of .special cre¬ 
ation. 

(3) : “I do not accept the story of the fall of man. 

(4) : “I do not believe in the doctrine of vicarious atone- 


THE BARRIERS ARE BROKEN. 


4 U 


ment. 

(5) : “I do not believe in the doctrine of eternal 
punishment, nor in that of a fixed state after death. 

(6) : “I do not believe that Christians possess an ex¬ 
clusively divine revelation, or that their Scriptures are per¬ 
fect or complete, 

(7) : “I do not believe in the dogma of the resurrection 
of the dead. 

(8) : “I protest against making belief in the deity of 
Christ an essential part of faith. 

(9) : “I believe that all mankind are alike dear to God, 
alike cared for, alike provided with means necessary for 
their good. I believe in a continuous and universal revela¬ 
tion whereby God has revealed, and does reveal, himself 
through various channels of the reason to all mankind; and 
that all local revelations are but parts of a grand whole; 
and that while their differences may be, and probably are, 
useful, as being the natural outcomes of the minds profess ¬ 
ing such differences, they are, on the other hand, no essen¬ 
tial parts of saving faith in God. 

(10) : “I have a reasonable, a well-grounded hope, in 
the immortality of the soul. 

(11) : ‘ ’ I believe that for every wrong committed we 
must all pay the penalty, must make our own atonement, 
either in this world or that to come. 

(12) : “I believe that the present age witnesses a higher 
revelation of God than any preceding age. This is the sub¬ 
stance of my faith. 

“If you think there is work in your diocese for a man 
with principles as broad as I profess, I am ready to con¬ 
tinue in it; if you think there is not, I will seek work of 
some kind elsewhere. 

“I have written you confidingly and candidly; and I 
ask of you an equally open and candid answer. 


414 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


“I am greatly delighted with Plato. I think there are 
but few living Christians who might not be made much 
more virtuous, and much wiser, by an attentive study of 
his gospel: 

* ovk apa tov ducaiov fiXairreiv epyov , ovre <pi\ov ovre aXKov 
ov8eva y a\\a tov evavriov tov aSinov’ (Repub. I. C. IX.) 

“Adieu, dear sir. May God Almighty help us all to do 
our duty, until we meet where the weary are at rest. 

“Very respectfully, 

“Henry Merton.” 

To this letter Merton received the following reply: 

“My dear Doctor Merton,—Yours of the ist inst. is re¬ 
ceived. 

“I thank you for writing me so frankly and for asking 
of me a candid answer. 

“Candidly, therefore, I do not think that any place will 
open in this diocese for usefulness for you in discharge of 
your duties as a clergyman, while you hold your present 
opinions. Faithfully yours, W. V. Dummkopf.” 

After fifteen days of indescribable agony, Merton re¬ 
solved to strive no longer with himself against his convic¬ 
tions of duty, but to break the bonds that bound him, and 
lay his burden down, by writing a letter to his bishop, ask¬ 
ing that all his relations with the Episcopal Church might 
be immediately severed. Merton’s request was granted by 
his diocesan; for he was one of those bishops who are so 
holy, that they can either fry their opponents in the “dry- 
pan and gradual fire,” roast them at the stake, or hang 
them up by the heels, and smoke them; and such a man 
could not be expected willingly to be classed with heathen 
characters like Plato, who taught that it is far better to re¬ 
ceive injustice than to do it; that the just man never does 
an injury, not even to his enemy. 

At the time of Merton’s ordination to the priesthood, 


The barriers are broken. 415 

he wrote, in his Hebrew Bible, the following sentence: 

“Ht7 tt(>) evwiriov tov deov nai irpoaKVvu tov Kvpiov os TewoirjKe 
p.e TpeafivTepov na i dov\o v tov xP lffT0V tov 2wtt7/>os epov. -1 fall 

down before God, and worship the Lord, who has made me 
a priest and slave of Christ, my Savior.” These words 
flowed from a most earnest and devoted heart; and the lit¬ 
eral characters were not the mere scratches of a pen, but 
the true imprint of a soul. As Merton read them at the 
time he ceased to act as a priest in the Episcopal Church, 
a solemn question arose in his breast: “Have you been 
true to the promise contained in these words? Have you 
been true to the God and Lord before whom you fell down 
and worshipped?” Merton answered himself thus: If a 
man promises to live faithful to all the injunctions of the 
Koran, is he morally and rightfully bound to keep his 
promises, in regard to those injunctions which he after¬ 
wards discovers to be neither useful nor true? Do Latimer, 
Luther, and Ridley fasten upon themselves the charge of 
moral turpitude, because they broke their ordination vows? 
All that a man can rightfully mean in his ordination vows, 
is that he will be faithful in the discharge of what he be¬ 
lieves to be his duty. No person can possibly be faithful to 
God, who is not first of all faithful to his own convictions 
of right and truth. The highest obligation a man can have, 
is the discharge of what he believes to be his duty, as day 
by day, in his eventful and progressing life, he is called on 
to determine what his hands and heart shall do. There can 
be no virtue or moral worth belonging to an act that is not 
done in accordance with the convictions of duty, it mat¬ 
ters not how remunerative or apparently successful such 
an act may be. He who would fall down before God and 
worship Him, must take care to do so, first of all and more 
than all, in his own heart, the place where God delights 
to dwell, and where He most reveals himself. Merton had 


416 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUT. 


kept the vows of his soul: he had been true to his convic¬ 
tions of duty, however much the pain he had suffered in 
discharging the same. When he read the above words, 
therefore, he did not feel he had been unfaithful; but he 
did feel pained at the thought that the narrowness and dark¬ 
ness of the church he gave his life to, denied him the privi¬ 
lege of falling down and worshipping his God, within her 
walls, or of completing the work which reverently and fear¬ 
fully he had undertaken to perform. In the best and truest 
sense Merton had kept his promise; but when his expand¬ 
ing and rising soul was refused a little space within the 
walls of superstition, he was compelled to seek a temple 
whose chancel has never been polluted, nor altar desecrat¬ 
ed, either by the hollow mockery of proud and designing 
bishops, or the false-hearted worship of poorly educated 
and hypocritical priests,—the temple whose doors are never 
closed, whose lights are ever burning, whose walls are sub¬ 
ject to no decay; and where, entering into her portals, a 
refuge from superstition, bigotry, and tyranny, the best and 
greatest have ever found closest communion with their 
God,—the temple of Reason. 

“Liber captiuos auis ferae consimilis est: 

Simulfugiundi si datast occasio , 

Satis est: post illam nunquam possis prendre 

(Plant. Capt. 116.) 

Thus it was with Merton: the barriers were broken,and 
he went forth free; and as his soul inhaled the breath of 
heaven, he felt, as it were, a new birth. His shackles were 
loosened; and as the chains so strongly wrought by the 
powerful arm of Priestcraft, were snapped asunder, he felt 
as never before the meaning of the cry: Give me liberty or 
death. 

Now he could speak his thoughts—the thoughts of an 
honest heart beating for union with God and with good- 


THE BARRIERS ARE BROKEN. 


417 


will toward mankind, and have no fear of those rolling and 
bloody eyes, and that lolling tongue, of the many-headed 
monster,Superstition. Now he could follow after righteous¬ 
ness, and hear and obey the whisperings of the Infinite Soul 
as He reveals himself in the onward movement of the age. 

Go forth,ye tear-wrought pages, take wings, O love-wrought book, 
Go, tell the Christian savage, God hath no bloody look. 

Say to the mitred bishop, to sacrificing priest: 

Leave Superstition’s banquet for Reason’s royal feast. 

She hath no votive Victim, no chalice for his blood; 

Nor bJood-besprinkled altar, nor martyred flesh for food: 

She hath no angry Father, no sacrificial Son; 

Her God is good forever, she knows He favors none. 

Go to our ice-girt neighbor, where lofty pines do wave, 

Where Earth is great with mineral, and rich in Sunshine’s grave; 
Speak out to ancient China, to India, Afric’s land, 

To Europe blessed with science: ye all are Holy Land. 

Go to the sun-burnt millions, where golden grain e’er shines, 
And to their sallow brethren pent up in deep, dark mines; 

To crowded cities peopled with Want and cold Neglect, 

And bid them all take courage, for all are God’s elect. 

Sav to the noble-hearted, when crushed with toil and pain: 

Be brave, for God, my brother, and duty still remain. 

(H. T. B.) 



CHAPTER XE. 

THOUGHTS ON THE OLD AND THE NEW. 

Schon weicht die tiefe Nacht. ( Goethe: Faust 4506 .) 

Ja, 'wakrlick! Ein Regenbogen mitten in dcr Nacht. 

(Schiller : Will Tell 975.) 

IT was only a vision in which I had been attending a 

meeting of so-called liberal ministers. All around me 
I saw portraits, images, statues, of the leading religionists, 
and moralists of the world. Buddha, Chreshna, Zoroaster, 
Moses, Confucius, Mencius, Plato, Aristotle, and numer¬ 
ous others, occupied honorable niches, indicating the 
sources from which the assembled divines drew their in¬ 
spiration and strength. As I gazed at those images, I per¬ 
ceived, to my astonishment, that they became more and 
more indistinct, until finally their outlines seemed scarcely 
discernible. 

A little to my right began to assume form a beautiful, 
marble statue representing Judgment. It was looking in the 
direction of the figures whose outlines had become so ob¬ 
scure. Words can not describe the sublime beauty of this 
wonderful piece of marble; and my soul was on fire with 
admiration. It was an ideal work. The eyes seemed pier¬ 
cing every obscurity; the nose'was Grecian; the lips were 
closed; the chin, prominent; the brow, lofty; and over the 
whole countenance there seemed spread that firm resolu¬ 
tion as well as that lofty seriousness so characteristic of Pal¬ 
las Athene. I approached the figure, touched it with my 
hand: it was but stone. “O Judgment,” I cried, ‘‘thou 
art indeed beautiful, perfect in outline, lovely in form, 
glorious in appearance; but thy touch is cold. Solace beams 
not in thy eyes, thy bosom heaves not with compassion, 


THE ODD AND THE NEW. 


419 


comfort falls not from tliy lips. Thou searchest, inquir- 
est, discoverest, judgest; but I long for the touch of a 
friendly hand, listen in agony for words of comfort, hope 
in vain for love or mercy. Oh, Judgment, turn thy gaze 
in the other direction; look into the face of the pitiful, 
merciful Christ. His lips give comfort, his word assur¬ 
ance, his arm strength; his bosom heaves with compassion, 
and his heart is bursting with sympathy. 

The glorious image, to my amazement, turned on her 
high pedestal, cast for a moment her large, piercing eyes 
on me, and then fixed them on the statue of Jesus, which 
stood at the back of the statue of Judgment, and in a less 
conspicuous part of the room. 

“Is this, then, thy God?” she asked. 

“Oh, no,” I replied, “I ask thee not, O mighty Judg¬ 
ment, to look on him as thy God or mine, but to recognize 
in him the great fountain of my comfort and hope, the 
great solace of my despairing soul, and the balm of my 
broken heart. I ask thee not to worship him as thy God, 
but to see in him the bright ray out of the deep darkness, 
the sweet voice out of deathlike silence, solace for the de¬ 
spairing, hope for the dying.” 

Tears were gushingfrom my eyes, my heart was wildly 
beating, when, behold, I saw a soft and most glorious 
light surround the beautiful statue. The beautiful form 
appeared to be alive. A look of compassion passed over 
her countenance; and crystal tears dropped from her eyes, 
causing white roses instantly to come into bloom, filling 
with their fragrance the whole assembly room. 

“Thou hast well said,” she replied. “None should dis¬ 
parage the works of the great moral and religious leaders 
of the world; and since they were and are, each and all, 
co-workers in the building up in humanity the kingdom 
of God, they are all duly to be honored and reverenced. 


420 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUt. 


But the lion roams not in company with the polar bear; 
the orange blooms not among the pines of Norway; this 
flower dies, where that flower blooms. So with different 
nations,—what is mental and moral food for one, is mental 
and moral poison for another. For thyself and thy kind, 
no voice can ever sound so sweet as that of Jesus; no word 
be so inspiring, no gospel so full of hope, as that which 
comes from his dear lips. Man may turn my gaze on 
other forms, and I look on them with pleasure; but only 
when I contemplate the face of him whom thou so greatly 
lovest, do I become warm, and feel the breath of life with¬ 
in me. As the moral and religious leader of thy race, and 
of the nations who have followed him for so many centuries, 
he can not be supplanted, and need not be. Though thy 
manhood sees not in him the god of thy youth, thou 
canst yet find in him the great burden-bearer and com¬ 
fort-giver of suffering humanity. So, weary soul, cast 
thy burdens on him, and he will help thee; imitate his life, 
and thou shalt find his strength in thy death.” 

My vision passed away. It was early morning; and I 
was so much affected that I have been led to pen these 
lines on the present religious unbelief, or on the old and 
the new. 

I am no more a believer in visions than in dreams; and 
I have no more faith in dreams than in a universal and in¬ 
variable revelation. Dreams are but faint echoes, under 
unconscious conditions, of the soul’s cries under conscious 
activity. True enough, there was more poetry, more 
imagery, in my dream-thought,than in my waking; but the 
substance of my vision was but the conviction of my soul in 
my most thoughtful moments. The assembly of preachers 
shows the general dissatisfaction with existing, religious 
conditions, and the unrest of clergy and people, and a de¬ 
sire on the part of the clergy to find a remedy. 


THE OLD AND THE NEW. 


4 2I 


With reference to faith, mankind may be divided into 
four classes,—Scholars with ecclesiastical duties and 
obligations, Scientific scholars, Men of average education 
whose reading consists chiefly of current, cheap literature, 
and the Ignorant classes. Of the first class it may be said 
that their duties and obligations have such a restraining 
influence over their tongue and pen, as to dwarf, or kill 
the growth of honest .skepticism, or to lead them to make 
known to the world those thoughts only which give least 
offence to their church superiors or relations. Of the 
second class it is not too much to say, that it is wholly com¬ 
posed of infidels (considered from an orthodox standpoint), 
agnostics, and skeptics. The third class is made up in 
general of men wholly indifferent to church and creed, 
though for the sake of appearances they may sometimes be 
found in comfortable pews. The fourth class contains the 
men and women of simple and unquestioning faith; and 
from this class the rank and file of the greatest of all 
orthodox churches are recruited. Such are those, we are 
told, who heard the Lord in the beginning; and such are 
they who will be found following his banner, when all 
others have fallen out of the ranks. 

Some may insist that I have no right to hold that 
those who fill ecclesiastical positions, or are in any 
way under ecclesiastical obligations, are in such servitude 
as I have here stated; but such objectors I am sure have 
not the scholarly qualifications requisite for criticizing my 
assertion, or else have but a very slight knowledge of hu¬ 
man nature, or of the results of ecclesiastical ostracism. 
It is only a short time ago that a leading minister, in one 
of the foremost cities of the country, told me he had no 
faith in the deity of Christ, and that his wife was an infi¬ 
del; yet this minister could preach a rousing Methodist 
sermon. Another equally high in standing, but of a dif- 


422 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUT. 


ferent denomination, said that “a man dares not preach as 
he believes; congregations have troubles enough without 
having to carry those of their ministers.” Should it be 
objected that my judgment of the attitude of scientific 
scholars, is an erroneous one, I have only to refer the ob¬ 
jector to the writings of scientists dead and living. 

It may be asked, what is the cause of this general un¬ 
rest. We reply—philosophical inquiry, scientific discov¬ 
eries, and the general scientific spirit. Science has com¬ 
pletely shattered much of what for ages has been held, 
without question, to be the indestructible work of God 
himself. The biblical account of the creation of the world, 
the special creation of man, the story of the garden of Eden, 
the fall of man, the placing of all animal life in the ark by 
Noah, casting out devils, blowing down walls with trum¬ 
pets, resurrections from the dead, virginal parturition, the 
stories of the Annunciation and Ascension, and other 
miracles of every description,—these are some of the so- 
called facts of the Bible, which Geology, Astronomy, 
Anthropology, History, and the critical spirit in general, 
have made it utterly impossible for the thoughtful and in¬ 
dependent mind any longer to believe. The popular pub¬ 
lication of the writings of the ante-Nicene Fathers, and the 
whole-sale biblical criticism of the age, have done their 
share in filling the average breast with unrest and skep¬ 
ticism. I must admit that nothing had a more damaging 
effect on my boyhood faith than my acquaintance with 
these ante-Nicene writings of the church. The absurd, 
gross, revolting, and disgusting assertions contained in 
these writings, vouched for by those holy men, are suffi¬ 
cient to prepare any man to expect similar absurdities from 
writers contemporaneous or almost so,—for instance, from 
the writers of the New Testaments. 

Having spoken of the present religious unrest indicat- 


THE OLD AND THE NEW. 


423 


ed by the meeting of the preachers in my vision, we 
might ask, can any remedy be found? Is there any balm 
in Gilead? 

The immortality of the soul, and the existence of a per¬ 
sonal God, remain in the judgment of the leading thinkers 
of all ages undemonstrated and undemonstrable. Even phil¬ 
osophers most friendly to the religious spirit, have willingly 
or unwillingly admitted this. Now, while it is, as Kant 
teaches, utterly impossible to demonstrate the soul’s im¬ 
mortality, or the existence of a personal God, it is not true, 
as some would-be philosophers of the present day affirm, 
that man is as contented with belief in the immortality of 
his moral influence upon the soul of the race to come, as in 
his own personal immortality; and with belief in universal 
nature as his impersonal, unconscious god, as in that of the 
God of Jesus, who is represented as ever ready to hear his 
children’s cry, and provide for their wants. Mankind clings 
to the hope of personal immortality,and longs for it, whether 
the hope or longing can be ever realized or not; and man 
naturally prays to what he imagines to be a living, person¬ 
al, conscious God, whether such a being be existent or not. 
Man as man loves whom he imagines to be God, and is 
prone to seek help and comfort from Him, when he despairs 
of getting aid from any other source. Nor does any man 
live, in my judgment, who hates God. A few days ago there 
appeared, in a leading paper, the assertion that a certain, 
widely known, popular lecturer hates God and the Demo¬ 
cratic party. Such foolish, and most unjust assertions are 
common in newspapers; but they are no less untrue than 
they are common. The lecturer may hate the god of the 
person who wrote the article, but I am sure he does not hate 
the Being whom he himself imagines to be God. It is evi¬ 
dent enough, therefore, that if a remedy is not at hand for 
the existent, religious unbelief, it is not that mankind is un- 


424 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUT. 


willing to receive one. Man is ever ready to hear a word 
from heaven, or to receive divine consolation; but he has 
been humbugged so many hundreds, thousands, of years, 
that he is no longer the ready tool of ecclesiastics. 

Is the remedy for the present unbelief a restoration of 
faith in the god of the Old Testament, or in the god of 
Jewish conception? 

My answer to this question is, that whether or not Such 
a restoration would constitute a remedy for the present un¬ 
belief, all attempts at applying this remedy must surely fail; 
because mankind, unless it retrogrades, can never again 
conceive of God under the dark and bloody character as¬ 
cribed to Him in the ancient Jewish religion. No refined 
mind can believe in a god who delights in burnt offerings, 
bloody sacrifices; who sniffs with pleasure the smoke from 
the burning victim; who orders the massacre of every man 
and woman, but the preservation of virgins for the pur¬ 
poses of lust; who hardens men’s hearts, to punish them 
the more cruelly; who sends a lying spirit into the heart of 
man, for the purposes of deception; who fears that man may 
attain equal power with deity; who seeks vengeance on the 
innocent for the crimes of the guilty; who creates that he 
may destroy; who makes one for the purpose of honor and 
life, and another for the purpose of dishonor and death; 
who teaches his favorites the art of war; who with fury and 
hatred exterminates nations for the happy settlement of his 
chosen people; who writes with his fingers, and talks with 
humanity as man to man; who visits the sins of fathers up¬ 
on their children. All these unjust and wicked acts are as¬ 
cribed to the god of the Old Testament, and a thousand 
others equally shameful; and such are the acts that make 
it impossible for any refined mind to believe in the god of 
the Jews. God writes not his laws with his fingers on 
tables of stone. As Goethe well says: 


THE OLD AND THE NEW. 


425 


il Ste reden nur durch unser Hertz zu uns — 

God speaks to us only through our heart.” {Jph.au f Tan .) 

We do not say that faith in the Jewish god was not good 
and proper for the Jews of ancient times; nor that the char¬ 
acter of their god, Javeli, was not better than that ascribed 
to the gods of many other ancient peoples. The gods of an¬ 
cient times could not have been, and the gods of present 
time can not be, other than the embodiment of the ideals of 
those who worshipped or worship them. The truth of this 
statement no one will attempt to combat. It is therefore not 
reasonable to suppose that the god worshipped by a people 
of one civilization, can receive the faith of a people of an¬ 
other and different civilization. As a people advances, so 
does the character of their god become more and more ex¬ 
alted. We hold, therefore, that a restoration of faith in the 
Jewish god is wholly impossible; and that even if it could 
be accomplished, such restoration would result, of necessity, 
in the deterioration of present civilization. We next ask— 

Is there a Remedy in Moral, Philanthropical, and 
Sociological Work? 

To this we reply: What physician talks of an epidermic 
disease, when his attention is called to a case of tuberculo¬ 
sis? The foolishness of such a course on the part of a phys : 
ician, would be no more apparent,than is the folly of those 
Who offer,as a remedy for religious unbelief, a moral, socio¬ 
logical, or philanthropical cure. Men may illogically, 
sophistically, or basely use the term, “religion,” when in 
the general judgment of mankind, they mean only moral¬ 
ity, or a life conformable to nature; for there is no way of 
forcing on writers candor or perspicuity. But the efforts 
of such men to pass themselves off for doctors of religion, 
when every troubled soul knows they are evident quacks 
and impostors, will be most surely in vain. Morality and 
religion are no more one, than are night and day. True 


426 FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUT. 

enough, night and day make one revolution of the earth 
on her axis, and the highest morals and truest religion 
enter into the making of a perfect human character; but as 
night means the time of rest and day the time for activity, 
so morality means man’s relation to man, and religion his 
relation to God. It is not enough that by lexicology we 
can show an apparent right to the use of a given word in 
any given case. We should ask ourselves, if such a word 
will convey a false impression, or if such a word is the one 
generally used in the given case. If it will convey an ambig¬ 
uous meaning, or to the general reader a meaning other 
than the writer intends, then no honest or careful writer 
will make use of such word. The word “religion,” it 
matters not what its derivation may be, has been used such 
a vast number of years exclusively to show man’s duty or 
obligation to God, that it can not be correctly used to-day 
to convey any other meaning. Kvery fair-minded man 
must look with contempt on the actions of those who use 
the word “religion,” when the content of the word, accord¬ 
ing to its received meaning, never enters into their hearts, 
in the use of it. 

We most emphatically hold that man is a religious be¬ 
ing, ajid that therefore no merely moral, sociological, or 
philanthropical food can ever appease his longing for Him 
after whom he gropes in the darkness, whom he believes 
to be a living, conscious, personal God, and in whom he 
hopes for comfort and peace. Man prays, but not to a 
mere force; man hopes, but not in mere universal law; man 
trusts, but not in the “survival of the fittest,” true as the 
law undoubtedly is. Nor can man cease to hope, and trust, 
and pray; and, therefore, he will ever be a religious being, 
hoping and trusting in, and praying confidently to, a liv¬ 
ing, personal God, to whom in distress he naturally cries: 
“Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me.” 


THE OLD AND THE NEW. 


4 2 7 


Man may lose all faith in church and priest, in forms and 
ceremonies, in surplices and stoles, in patens and chalices, 
in altars and sacrifices; but in the darkness he will still feel 
after Him, for whom his heart and his flesh cry out; nor 
will he cease searching after and trusting in God, while 
life shall last. Man asks for a fish, will you give him a 
stone? Play not with man’s .sacred feelings thus. But 
this is what is done by him who .seeks to cure the present 
religious unbelief by applying moral, sociological, or phil- 
anthropical remedies. We therefore conclude that such 
efforts can have no remedial effect on the the evil in ques¬ 
tion. We may look on Buddha, Confucius, Mencius, or 
any others of their kind whom our fathers never knew; 
but great and noble as they all were and are, our coun¬ 
tenances will not shine, our poor dead hearts will not 
pulsate with warmth and life from the reading. of their 
moral or philanthropical precepts. They move us only so 
far as they speak to us religiously; and since our civiliza¬ 
tion can not be made to recognize in them the fountains 
from which we draw our religious inspiration, we hold 
there is no remedy for existing religious unbelief, in point¬ 
ing burdened souls to them. 

A Proposed Remedy: 

In geological study, nothing is more evident than that 
in the evolution of vegetable and animal life, certain forms 
have had their culmination during certain epochs of the 
earth’s history. In some cases this is so evident that their 
fossils are characteristic of the age. Reptiles and mollusks 
culminated in the Mesozoic age, and Trilobites and Brach- 
iopods in the Paleozoic. Says Dana: “Diving species are 
always adapted to some special climate or condition of the 
globe; and when this climate or condition has been passed 
in the earth’s progress, the tribes fitted for it no longer ex¬ 
ist.” I should rather say that the forms of life are true 


428 FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL,. 

though slow results of the earth’s geological,physical, and 
climatic conditions; and that, therefore, they change of 
necessity as their conditions change. Notwithstanding 
the fact that in Devonian times the seas were swarming 
with fishes most formidably armed for offensive as well as 
defensive warfare, of all the species, genera, and even 
families then existing, not one to day remains. L,e Conte 
says that the mammals of Tertiary times are now wholly 
extinct; and Dana tells us that all the fishes, reptiles, birds, 
and mammals of that same period, are extinct species. 
(Manual of Geology, 518). The statement that all mam¬ 
malian life of theTertiary period has passed off the earth’s 
surface, I consider far from substantiated; but I have given 
the words of authorities more to prove the general fact of 
the constant change of living forms than to show the ex¬ 
tinction or continuance of any particular species. 

Now, as animal forms are the results of peculiar geo¬ 
logical, physical, and climatic conditions, which cause the 
culmination of different forms at different times; so it ap¬ 
pears to me are mental forms surely and certainly the 
products of evolution, though the factors causing mental 
changes are more obscure, and therefore less easily 
recognized. Certain mental types appear to have their 
culmination, and then to pass away, never again to 
return; or if ever they return, it can be only after 
man has passed through a preparatory period similar 
to that which preceded their first coming. A man honor¬ 
ed at one age as an apostle of God, is at another cast into 
prison as a disturber of the peace, or put to death as a 
malefactor. To-day over the people, a man has almost 
miraculous power, and unlimited influence; while some¬ 
time in the past or future, he would have been, or would 
be, received by the same people with shouts of derision. 
A god at one time, is a deranged person or an impostor at 


THE OLD AND THE NEW. 429 

another. The same forces which evolve the prophet or re¬ 
former, evolve also the receptivity of the masses. This 
is the natural order. When this order of nature is depart¬ 
ed from, as it sometimes is, as in the cases of retrogres¬ 
sion and monstrosities, if the prophet is at hand, the peo¬ 
ple will not believe him; and if the people are at hand, 
they seek the prophet in vain. 

About two thousand years ago the Jewish people had 
been passing through those experiences that in their very 
nature resulted in the expectation of a political and spir¬ 
itual reformer or savior; and the customs of the people had 
for ages been such as naturally resulted in the culmination 
of the prophetic type. It is not unfrequent that persons ap¬ 
pear to-day claiming to be prophets and saints; but they are 
sporadic characters, whose professions and powers are soon 
scoffed at, and disproved by the critical spirit of the age. 
Such characters generally appear among ignorant people, 
and within their narrow sphere become celebrated or wor¬ 
shipped; but they can not pass beyond the bounderies of 
superstition. Science and skepticism set up an effectual bar¬ 
rier. Many of these pretenders would have flourished, or 
become universally famous, had they appeared during the 
ages of credulity; and many of those who have been uni¬ 
versally celebrated, would never be known beyond their 
own superstitious circle, if they made their appearance to¬ 
day. In olden times an infectious disease had open way, and 
therefore cut down the people as a scythe the grass; but to¬ 
day sanitary science and disinfectants confine the disease, 
prevent its progress, and cut off its sway. Thus it is with 
the class of saviors and prophets: their times are passed,and 
the rule of science and critical inquiry has set in. It mat¬ 
ters not how great a professed reformer and savior appeared 
to-day, in a scientific country he would not be received ex¬ 
cept as a disturber of the peace; but as time blunts the edge 


430 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUR. 


of criticism, and weaves about the persons of ancient days 
garments of sancity, authority, and devotion, it is not easy 
to destroy the faith of people in their idols, nor is it at all 
apparent that it would be wise to do so. 

Jesus Christ, supposing him to be an historical charac¬ 
ter, was a great Jewish reformer, who was naturally enough 
denounced and persecuted by those whose offices he sought 
to change, or whose ways he labored to alter. Such char¬ 
acters were opposed to him chiefly on the grounds of self- 
interest, and not from any adherence to science or from the 
fact that they were governed by the scientific spirit; for the 
mantle of superstition was almost universally spread. Few 
men there were of scientific turn of mind, and such only 
smiled when they heard of the wonderful works of the 
great Jewish reformer; but these were foreigners, or out¬ 
side of synagogue and indifferent to temple. The great ma¬ 
jority of every land had been born, rocked, and raised, in 
superstition; and such heard the reformer gladly, and very 
many followed him. He preached to the poor, and loved 
them; while he burned with indignation at the idleness, 
selfishness, and sordidness, of the rich, giving the latter a 
place in hell, and the former a place in heaven. He was a 
lover of truth, justice,and righteousness; and had a sublime 
and unlimited faith in God and his providence. He brought 
God as near to man, as Socrates brought philosophy. He 
was filled with one idea—the completion of what he be¬ 
lieved was his conscious mission. Neither the threats 
of his persecutors, nor suffering, nor penury, nor death could 
deter him from denouncing the transgressor, and hurling 
his maledictions on the hypocrite; any more than they could 
from blessing the poor in spirit who were lovers of God 
and man. 

It is this Jesus, this Jewish reformer, that alone holds 
any sway, as a religious leader, over the more enlightened 


the odd and the new. 


43 


nations of the world; and although by men of scientific mind 
and education, whose bread comes not from the offerings 
of the faithful, he is almost without exception regarded as 
only human, it is safe to say that they admire and love him, 
and indignantly resent any attempt to dethrone him, or to 
put another in his place. They may admire other great 
world-reformers, acknowledge the great good they have 
done, and see in them the Christs and saviors of their re¬ 
spective peoples, but for them, skeptics as they are, there is 
only one Jesus, and his glory and leadership they will not 
give to another. To them his name is dearer, his word more 
cheering, his presence more hopeful than that of any other 
leader who has ever lived. It is therefore safe to say that 
whatever remedy we seek to use for the existing religious 
unbelief, it must be given, if at all, under the leadership of 
Jesus; and this is said not on the grounds of any absurd or 
monstrous claims of his being God-man, or having been 
born of a virgin, but solely on the grounds that, having as 
clear a right and title to this headship as any other claim¬ 
ant, and having been in quiet and peaceful possession of 
this headship for nearly 2,000 years, he can not be sup¬ 
planted by another, or in legal language, ousted from his 
occupancy. 

Having shown that under the conditions of our present 
moral and spiritual enlightenment, no other leadership 
than that of Jesus is possible,it now.remains to ask whether 
a symbol of faith is necessary, and if so what must be its 
form and substance. 

All true men are more or less patriotic; but in cases of 
actual warfare it has ever been deemed useful, if not neces¬ 
sary, to have some symbol, banner, or standard to fight 
under. Such a symbol reminds one of his country, his wife, 
and his children; and serves as a rallying centre or point, 
and fills the spirit with those qualities so requisite for the 


432 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


battle-field. The symbol makes possible unity of thought 
and act, and enables each soldier to know that he is fight¬ 
ing under the direction of one common commander of gen¬ 
eral. In addition to this, it serves to distinguish the forces 
of one’s country from those of the enemy,—a -work of no 
little importance in times of warfare. 

Now, the work of a church must be carried on, if at all, 
in a manner similar to that in which a battle is waged. 
Church-work is supposed to be a battle against wrong-do¬ 
ing of every description. Sin and immorality are to be 
overcome, and righteousness and good morals built up. 
The pastor is the commander, and the other-church officers 
are his assistants in this battle which is supposed to be 
waged for God and humanity. Every reason urged for the 
necessity of a symbol in secular warfare, may be equalled 
with similar reasons for the use of a symbol in spiritual 
battles. The principles for which one fights, should be 
clearly understood; the will of the commander should be 
known; there should be a rallying centre or point; the forces 
for and against should be distinguished; and there should 
be an object from the sight or contemplation of which,cour¬ 
age or zeal might be derived. As we do not believe that 
success can follow the movements of a bannerless army, so 
do we not believe that success can attend the labors of a 
symbolless church. In other words, a creed is necessary to 
the existence of a conquering church. No banner,no army; 
no creed, no church. 

Admitting there must be a creed in order that a church 
may have a successful existence, our last question is, what 
must be its form and substance. 

A creed of no words is despair, and a creed of many 
words superstition. Of these two evils some may prefer the 
one, others may prefer the other; but neither the one nor 
the other can finally hold the heart of humanity. In form 


THE OLD AND THE NEW. 


433 


a creed should be simple to understand, grand in expres¬ 
sion, concise in statement, and sufficiently long to attract 
and hold the thought of a worshipping assembly. The cus¬ 
tom of repeating the so-called Apostle’s Creed by Episco¬ 
pal congregations is of incalculable value to that church it¬ 
self, and has a striking effect on strangers that happen to 
visit it. Its length is but little if any too great for the end 
desired; and in grandeur, and conciseness it is everything 
that could be wished for. Nor in our judgment does it fall 
short in clearness and simplicity. The logomachy that so 
often occurs over it, is rather the result of forced construc¬ 
tions than of any ambiguity in meaning. We admit the 
beauty in form of that creed, but we can not yield our as¬ 
sent to its substance; and from many years of ministerial 
experience in that church, we do not believe we ever knew 
a single male communicant who had no doubts of the truth 
of that creed in its entirety. Nor can this be wondered at; 
for men in general inhale the air of a scientific atmosphere, 
and are therefore prone to regard with grave suspicions all 
assertions which in their very nature are subversive of uni¬ 
versal law, order,and experience. It is therefore first of all 
and most of all necessary that in substance a creed should 
be at one with universal law, order, and experience, that 
it receive the assent of men of independent thought 
and liberal education,—in other words, of the scientific 
world. 

It may be regarded as highly presumptuous in the au¬ 
thor, in daring to express his opinion as to what the substance 
of a creed should be; but we believe that there are but few 
men of our civilization who would not give their hearty 
assent to, or at least hope for the truth of, a creed some¬ 
thing like the following: 

I believe in God the Father Almighty, Creator of heaven 
and earth; and in Jesus Christ his Prophet our Leader and 


434 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


Head, who suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, 
dead, and buried; but is alive with God forevermore. 

I believe in God as the Savior and Sanctifier; the com¬ 
munion of saints; the forgiveness of sins; the brotherhood 
of man; and the life everlasting. Amen. 

We would assist in establishing a religion broad as hu¬ 
manity, deep as God’s love; and in the establishment of a 
church whose creed every religious person, of whatever 
name or nation, could heartily repeat. We do not believe 
in establishing, nor would we wish to join, a creedless 
church; nor do we believe that the heart of humanity could 
ever find rest in such a body- But the clauses in the creed 
of the church that we would assist in establishing, would be 
few indeed—the fewer the better; for the strength of a creed 
is not in its length. A long and closely defined creed may 
be a string of subtilely woven falsehoods; whereas a creed 
of not more than a single clause, might be a truth upon 
which humanity could build forever. The God of such a 
creed, however, although immanent in, would not be 
thought of as synonymous with, nature, nor nature’s laws; 
but as the Being in whom nature has its existence, and its 
laws their source. 

Some may imagine that our work has been destructive; 
but such would be an unwarranted inference. We wish to 
tear down only what is crumbling and dangerous, that we 
may the more firmly establish what is solid and abiding. We 
would break down falsehood, boasting, hypocrisy,pretence; 
we would build up truthfulness, humility, sincerity,candor. 

As a parting word the author would say that he has 
aimed to set before the reader the footprints of a soul search¬ 
ing after truth and righteousness; and in the person of a 
most scholarly and conscientious priest, to exemplify the 
strife existing in the mind between reason and dogma. This 
strife exists in all thoughtful souls; but so deep and intense 


THE OLD AND THE NEW. 


435 


is it in the minds of the most scholarly, that they can not 
any longer fall down before the idols of their youth—the 
absurdities of old. They therefore look earnestly for a faith 
that shall be consonant with reason, at one with nature, 
and at the same time comforting to the heart. Let us not 
deceive ourselves with boasting of our great knowledge of 
God: the conscious ignorance of the true scholar precludes 
all dogmatism. So much we know: he that most doeth jus¬ 
tice, most loveth mercy, walketh most humbly,—he it is 
who is made most in the image of God. 

“Das Alte stuerzt , es aendert sich die Zeit , 

Und neues Leben blueht aus den Ruinen — 

The ancient powers and customs fall. 

The age itself is changing; 

Behold a new and youthful life 
- From out the ruins springing.” 

{Schiller: Wilhelm Tell , 2425 .) 






436 


FOOTPRINTS OF A SOUL. 


A “TE DEUM,” OR HYMN TO GOD 

BY 

CEEANTHES. 

(Born about 300 B. C., at Assos in Troas.) 


Most glorious of the Immortals, many-named, Almighty forever! 
Zeus, ruler of Nature, that governest all things with law, 

Hail! for lawful it is that all mortals should address Thee. 

For we are thy offspring,taking the image only of thy voice,as many 
Mortal things as live and move upon the earth. 

Therefore will I hymn Thee,and sing thy might forever; for Thee 
doth 

All this universe that circles round the earth obey,moving whither¬ 
soever 

Thou leadest, and is gladly swayed by Thee. Such a minister hast 
Thou in thine invincible hands :the two-edged,blazing,imperishable 
Thunderbolt. For under its stroke all Nature shuddereth,and by it 
Thou guidest aright the Universal Reason, that roams through all 
Things, mingling itself with the greater and the lesser lights, till 
It has grown so great, and become supreme king over all. 

Nor is aught done on the earth without Thee, O God, nor in the 
divine 

Sphere of the heavens,nor in the sea,save the works that evil men 
Do in their tolly. Yea, but Thou knowest even to find a place for 
Superfluous things,and to order that which is disorderly,and things 
not dear to men are dear to Thee. 

Thus dost Thou harmonize into One all good and evil things,that 
there should be one everlasting Reason of them all. 

And this the evil among mortal men avoid and heed not; wretched, 
ever 

Desiring to possess the good,yet they nor see nor hear the universal 
Law of God, which obeying with all their heart,their life would be 
well. 

But they rush graceless each to his own aim, some cherishing lust 
for 

Fame, the nurse of evil strife, some bent on monstrous gain, some 
Turned to folly and the sweet works of the flesh hastening, indeed, 
to bring the very contrary to these things to pass. 

But Thou, O Zeus, he All-Giver,Dweller in the darkness of cloud, 
Lord of thunder,save Thou men from their unhappy folly,which do 
Thou, O Father, scatter from their souls; and give them to dis¬ 
cover that 

Wisdom in whose assurance Thou governest all things with justice; 
So that being honored, they may pay Thee honor, hymning thy 
Works continually, as it beseems a mortal man. 

Since there can be no greater glory for men or gods than this, 
Duly to praise forever the Universal Law. 


INDEX. 




Adam; 

date of his creation, 204; fall 
of, 180. 

Affliction and faith, 38. 
Agathon on the coward, 176. 
Augustine : 

and Pelagius, 223;on Adam, 
224; on moral freedom, 224; 
the first to anthropomorph¬ 
ize God, 232. 

Ante-Nicene Fathers, 422. 
Appointment of ministers, 102, 
110. 

Aristotle: 

on development of char¬ 
acter, i67;on manliness,175; 
on the city, 282; as a phil¬ 
osopher, 294; on virtue, 352. 
Bacon, Roger, 401. 

Bacon, Lord, on theology, 404. 
Belief saves nobody, 224. 

Bible: 

considered as a whole, 232; 
should be purged, 379; how 
regarded by scholars, 410. - 
Bill, Wild, 82. 

Bishop: 

powers of dispensation, 162 ; 
a suspected, 179; unseemly 
action of a, 185; a dishonor¬ 
able, 200. 

Bishopric, how sought after, 198. 
Blood-atonement, 265, 313. 
Blossom: 

Merton meets Mrs, 81; as 
Job’s comforter, 82; his 
excuse, 83. 

Buddha, life and death of, 243. 
Business is business, 122. 
Buttolph: 

his hard experience, 87; on 
guarantees, 88; on faith, 88. 
“Call;” 


Mr. Pascoe’s proof of a, 47; 
on “calls” in general, 48; of 
Mr. Carter, 62, 68, 69; more 
fully discussed, 63, 60. 
Calvin, 284. 

Carter: 

his “call,” 62, 68; subject of 
his thesis, 67. 

Castles in the air, 51. 

Cause and effect, 161. 

Celibacy, 387. 

Change, all subject to, 180. 
Christ: 

concerning his divinity, 221, 
?34> 253, 270, 335; concern¬ 
ing his deity, 222, 225, 235, 
2 37 > 253, 260, 269, 278, 413; 
Celsus on, 255; and blood- 
atonement, 265; his teach¬ 
ings, 274; is supreme, 431. 
Christian civilization: 

and heathen, 124, 383. 
Christianity, 383. 

Church: 

and science, 402; and creed, 
432 . 

Churches all at variance, 401. 
Churchm embers: 

In hospitality of, 77; lives of, 
124; first duty of, 140. 
Church-officers: 

a trio of, 130; Loveright 
on, 153. 

Church-buildings, 182. 

Cicero: 

on reason, 374; on happiness, 
158; on justice, 184, 191; on 
the universe, 202; on phil¬ 
osophy, 294. 

Clergy and unnatural vices, 389. 
Communion: 

Scene at, 189; meaning of, 

363 . 


437 





43§. 


INDEX. 


Conception, divine: 

Homer on, 233; commonly 
believed in, 236, 242, 259; of 
Christ, 241, 259. 

Conduct, dishonorable: 

no excuse for, 196. 
Consciences, men’s, 79. 
Contraction and temperature, 
212. 

Creed, 327, 399, 407, 431. 
Creation: 

Song of, 163; of the world, 
203; date of, 204; special, 412. 
Croquet, a game of, 105. 

Day, a happy, 91. 

Darwin: 

on the clergy, 397, 409; the 
bishop on, 409. 

Death: 

of Merton’s father, 20; must 
not fear, 174, 175; should 
not rashly seek, 174; of Mrs. 
Merton, 366; the gate to 
Hfe, 356, 365. 

Death-bed repentance, 173. 
Deity,how only established, 237. 
Democritus, 45. 

Denominations, setting up, 85. 
Disappointments, are common, 
180. 

Divinity of Christ: 

not satisfactorily proved, 
237; and that of Buddha, 
252 ; Mr. Pomposity on, 259; 
Merton on, 273. 

Dogmas: 

the churches seek, 58; and 
science, 59; and reason, 190, 
225, 248, 303, 434; leading 
astray, 223. 

Dogmatists: 

escaping the question, 59; 
banners of, 59. 

Dreams, 420. 

Drunkard, a typical, 105. 

Duty: 

doing our, 115, 415; must 
perform our, 172, 174,415; 
Kreeshna on, 262. 

Earth: 

a child oi the sun, 216, 217; 


age of, 216, 218; past history 
of, 217, internal heat of, 217; 
beginning of the life of, 218; 
different ages of, 218; how 
long occupied by man, 219; 
glacial epoch of, 219; losing 
its heat, 218. 

Easter, poem on, 372. 
Ecclesiastics: 

and justice, 283;and legisla¬ 
tion, 287; Lecky on, 306; and 
truth, 421. 

Elder, the, breaking promises,72. 
Energy: 

conservation of,211; amount 
of, invariable, 330. 

Episcopal Bishop, Merton and 
the, 100. 

Evangelist, an, calls for prayer, 

1 5 I - 

Evil-speaking, Merton on, 131. 
Evolution: 

generally received, 180, 205; 
of living forms, 219, 427, 
428; of mental forms, 428. 
Faith: 

the best, 125; and works, 
125, 141, 261; salvation by, 
157; a reasonable, 433; and 
truth, 279, 312, 314; in the 
churches, 401. 

Faiths; 

thoughts on religious, 56; 
Tennyson on, 181. 

Fall, on the, 180, 412. 

Fisher on miracles, 334, 336. 
Fixed State: 

doctrine of, 159; no evidence 
of a, 161. 

Fraudulent, Mr.: 

Mr. Smalleyes on, 112; 
visits Mr. Longshanks, 120; 
Mr. Longshanks on, 123; 
Mr. Loveright on, 153. 
Friend, Merton loses a, 23. 
Friendship, 327. 

Galileo, 402. 

Genesis, on creation, 210, 220. 
God: 

many-named but one, 299; 
has no favorites, 275, 301, 





INDEX. 


439 


3i4> 337> 4°5* 4*3; formless 
and unbounded, 269; and 
natural order,65 ;and reason, 
384, 385; and nature, 66,434; 
Mr. Carter on, 69; anthro- 
pomorphization of, 70, 314, 
382, 424; doeth all things 
well, 84, 365; and human 
affairs, 96; sons of with 
daughters of men, 119; sons 
of, 235 ; a child of, 140; just 
and good, 161 ;man account¬ 
able to, 165; how revealed, 
165, 340; infallible, 166, 203; 
deceives not, 203; his revel¬ 
ation, 220, 263, 301; his 
fatherhood, 235, 301, 423; 
only one, 265; man’s true 
life, 307: Israelitish con¬ 
ception of, 381, 424. 

Godspeed, Mr., kindness of, 152. 

Globes, collision of, 216. 

Goethe: 

a love poem, 145; on the 
church, 396; on the power 
of gold, 201; on revelation. 
425; on the words of the 
gods, 231; on God’s works, 
267; on deliberation, 317, on 
the character of the gods, 
281; on priests, 293. 

Gold, the power of, 198, 199, 201. 

Gospels; 

dead and living, 123; Mill 
on the, 222; when critically 
examined, 226; the authors 
of the, 230. 

Geology, as a science, 218. 

Grasshoppers, a shower of, 92. 

Happiness, on, 179, 348, 350. 

Harnack on Augustine, 232. 

Headstrong, Mr.: 

speaks at a revival, 116; 
Longshanks offends, 117; 
Mr. Squareman on, 129, 131; 
Merton calls on, 137; on 
book-learning, 138; advises 
Merton, 140; Mr. Loveright 
on 148. 

Heaven and earth, meaning of, 
204. 


Heine, quotation from, 258. 
Heat: a mode of motion, 210; 

loss of by the earth, 218. 
Hell, located by the Fathers, 
218. 

Heresy, not so bad as deception, 
169. 

Holiness, personal, 58. 

Holy Ghost, impressions from, 
64, 68. 

Honor: 

the highest possession, 191: 
how characterized, i9i;and 
priests, 195, 196; a reward 
of virtue, 157. 

Homer, 87, 104, 114, 126, 240. 
Huxley, Darwin on, 409. 
Hypocrite: 

a typical, 98; in the pulpit, 
169, 183, 197; in the con¬ 
gregation, 327. 

Immaculate conceptions, 241, 
3i3. 

Immortality: 

Mr. Gray on, 233; Mr. Judex 
on, 246; man longs for, 326, 
423; Merton on, 362; Kant 
on, 364; leading thinkers on, 
4 2 3- 

Imputed Righteousness, 125, 
r 5 8 - 

Infidel, Merton meets an, 38 
Insincerity, 175. 

Insurance, Headstrong on, 138. 
Jesus: 

persecuted by the church, 
60; a martyr for the truth, 
242, 430; incredible stories 
about, 242; and Buddha, 243; 
Celsus on his divinity, 255; 
on his deity, 269, 270, 274, 
278, 419; on his teachings, 
274,430; prayers to,.277, 278; 
the one sweet voice, 419; 
Judgment on, 420; is su¬ 
preme, 430, 431. 

Jordan, crossing a, 80. 
Judgment-day, not far off, 161. 
Justice, practice of, makes just, 

157- 

Kansas: 




440 


INDEX. 


Merton invited to, 71, a 
beautiful view in, 72. 

Kant on immortality, 364. 

Kindness: a paying investment, 
108; power of, 135. 

Knowledge and the vulgar, 392. 

Kreeshna; 

on immortality, 261; on 
duty, 262. 

Lady, a hospitable, 73. 

Laplace, on the original nebula, 
208. 

Larva, 333. 

Law, sources of the, 283. 

Letter from home, 19. 

Life: 

thoughts on the phases of, 
54; must not rashly sacri¬ 
fice, 176. 

Locke: 

on miracles, 238; on reason, 
156. 

Longshanks, Mr.: 

Merton visits, 114; on re¬ 
ligion, 1:5, ii7;on preach¬ 
ers’visits, 115; on Mr. Small- 
eyes, r 19; on Mr. Fraud¬ 
ulent, 123. 

Luke, Gospel of: 

nothing knownof its author, 
229; not an apostle, 229; not 
an eye-witness, 229; state¬ 
ments of, 229. 

Lyell, Sir Charles: 
as a geologist, 218. 

Man: 

affected by accidents, 160; 
unequally endowed, 161; a 
child of error, 166; an an¬ 
imal, 328; fossil man, 219; 
how long on earth, 219; self- 
conceited, 325: desires im¬ 
mortality, 326, 423; his love 
for woman, 327, foetal life 
of, 329; his conception of 
God, 425; must pray, 426; 
should be true to self, 398. 

Mark, Gospel of: 

little known of, 227; ours 
not the original, 227; notan 
eye-witness, 228; a disciple 


of Peter, 228; statements of, 
228. 

Marcus Aurelius: 

on mental improvement, 30; 
on studious attention, 53; on 
doing our duty, no; on 
preparation for death, 115. 

Masters, serving two, 398, 403. 

Matthew, Gospel of: 

original work lost, 226; 
translation of questionable, 
226, 227. 

Meekface, Mr., on Mr. Square- 
man, 132, 134 

Megalauchus, Mr., goes a fish¬ 
ing, 195- 

Men after God’s own heart, 231. 

Merton: 

gets a letter from home, 19; 
and the professor, 27; hi-; 
religious experience, 29, 39; 
how impressed in youth, 33- 
35; and “sloping,” 36; his 
first sermon, 37; takes his 
first degree, 40; and Mr. 
Tubbs, 42; in the great city, 
53; his hopes not realized, 
55; takes his second degree, 
62, 71; vain hopes of, 60; on 
nature, 66; on prayer, 66; 
uncertainty of, 39, 40, 68; 
his first charge, 75; a peril¬ 
ous journey, 84; pursued by 
wolves,93;offends Mr. Soul¬ 
less, 95; accepts a new ap¬ 
pointment, 100; receives 
advice, 102; and Mrs. 
Woundedheart, 107; advises 
Mr. Meekface, 135; leaves 
Methodism, 155; and the 
examiner, 167; and Mr. In- 
sanitas, 187; and Mr. Meg¬ 
alauchus, 192; receives his 
third degree, 283; takes his 
fourth and fifth degrees,308. 

Ministers: 

young, how favored, 24; as 
students, 25, 27, 28; young, 
great professions of, 25; 
young, characters of, 31; the 
marks they leave, 82;giving 





INDEX. 


441 


advice, ioi;Mrs,Merton on, 
102; tobacco-chewing, 106; 
and the Holy Ghost, 149; 
plotting, 172, 180; their 

labors, 181, 182; the actions 
of certain, 190; hypocrisy 
of, 201, 421; skeptical, 223, 
421; illogical, 254, 378; dup¬ 
ing their followers, 245; an 
assembly of, 420, 

Mill on the authority of the 
Gospels, 230. 

Miracles: 

impossible to prove, 48, 273; 
how the credulous assume, 
5 °> 335 » 395 ; not admissible, 
2 ° 5 > 3i6, 336, 379; New 
Testament, 238, 241,253, 273; 
not essential, 260; improb¬ 
ability of, 272; non-occur¬ 
rence of, 379. 

Missionaries and salvation, 301. 

Moses and the Pentateuch, 378. 

Murderer and Murdered, 158. 

Nag’s-head, 391. 

Nature: 

bond of sympathy in, 51; 
differently impressed by,52; 
and God, 52, 347; a divine 
organism, 66; ever chang¬ 
ing, 347 - 

Nebular Hypothesis: 

generally accepted, 206,207, 
209. 

Nicene Creed, 398. 

Noble, the, how distinguished, 
191 - 

Opinion, should not readily give 
up, 167. 

Ordination, little required for, 
162. 

Organs, Headstrong on, 13S 

Origen, excommunication of, 
256. 

Orthodoxy: 

dogmas of, unproved, 222, 
305; and the facts of science, 
222; its followers. 421, 

Ovid, quotation from, 92. 

Pascoe, Mr,, proof of his call, 47. 

Pericles, 346. 


Physician, heal thyself, 128. 
Plato: 268, 247, 276, 282, 295, 414. 
Plautus on freedom, 416. 
Popelover: 

on certain professors, 135; 
on Christian life, 136. 

Pope, the: 

and morals, 392 ; and citizen¬ 
ship, 393. 

“ Power,” the: 

Mr. Headstrong on, 138; ex¬ 
periencing, 140; and min¬ 
isters, 148. 

Prayer: 

proper use and end of, 66, 
338,342,345; for the dead, 
370; a natural cry, 234, 307, 
426. 

Preserve, a rare, 89. 

Priests: 

scheming, 181; and honor, 
I9C *95> 197; g° in g around 
the world, 193; and infor¬ 
mation, 197 ;and loveof gold, 
199; and hypocrisy, 199, 200, 
201; and unbelief, 240; Mr. 
Judex on, 248; and power, 
284.285. 291; and politics, 
283, 285, 293; teaching and 
practice of, 290; and phil¬ 
anthropy, 292, 341; and 

science, 310; and morals, 388. 
Pulpit, the: 

its true work, 164, 188; kind 
of men filling it, 188; as it 
is, 309. 

Profession, vain, 123. 

Professor, the,and the shoe, 28. 
Protestantism, 395. 

Providence, Headstrong on, 138. 
Reason: 

man’s glory, 165; Ciceroon, 
374; Livy on, 374; Few live 
a life of, 352; a poem on, 382; 
in the churches, 403; the 
temple of, 416; the gift of 
God, 63; Locke on, 156. 
Religious Experience, untrust¬ 
worthy, 32. 

Religion and Science, 59. 
Religious Principles, how de- 





442 


INDEX. 


veloped, 33. 

Religion: 

a central fact, 245, 301, 42C; 
should be purified, 264; 
common to humanity, 264; 
fundamentally true, 263; 
sources of, 283; and politics, 
284, 285; and truth, 316; 
what. 425. 

Religiosi, 392. 

Revelation: 

fitted to man’s growth, 239, 
42o;not infallible nor com¬ 
plete, 263; not direct, 304; 
and natural order, 313, 411; 
universal, 301, 379; not 

special, 378, 412. 

Revivals: 

results of, 29, 116; Mr. Love- 
right on, 147; a scene at, 149. 
Revivalists, 116, 147. 
Resurrection, 328, 333, 337. 
Ride, a, for life, 94. 
Righteousness, personal and 
imputed, 58. 

Ritterhauson the true wife, 177. 
Sacraments, save not, 173. 

Saint, a, with seven devils, 134. 
Salis, 356. 

Salvation: 

by faith, 157; by works, 260, 
302. 

Sanctification: 

Merton professes, 25; 
meetings for, 28. 

Sanctity, Father: 

his speech, 42; his prayer, 
43; his hypocrisy, 44. 
Savigny, 282. 

Saws, ten thousand, 89. 

Science: 

and religion, 59; and mir¬ 
acles, 205; and orthodoxy, 
222, 402, and theology, 225; 
and revelation, 411. 
Sincerity: 

nothing so desirable, 169, 
170; lack of in the pulpit, 
183, 312; necessary, 397. 
Slanderers: 

Mrs. Merton on, 111, 123; 


examples of, 133. 

Slander: Mr. Squareman on, 
127. 

Smalleyes, Mr., on slander, 11 2 
Solar System: 

one of many, 206; age of,206. 
Soulless, Mr.: 

a crabbed old fellow, S7; a 
Shylock, 95; Merton leaves, 
96; Mr. Smith on, 97. 
Shakspere, 70, 142, 170, 221. 
Schiller, 52, 164, 197, 435. 
Skepticism: 

among ministers, 183, 312; 
among the learned, 284. 
Spencer, Herbert, and super- 
• stition, 409. 

Squash, a load for quarterage,82. 
Subscriptions, Longshanks on 
church, 118. 

Suffering, results of, 372. 
Stewards: 

stealing timber, 121; plot¬ 
ting against one another, 
122. 

Stubbs on celibacy, 388. 

Sun: 

Helmholtz on, 206: Tyndall 
on, 206; Youmans on, 207; 
a star, 209; origin of, 210; 
its heat, 211; contraction of, 
212, 214; existence of prior 
to the earth, 212; present 
condition of, 213, 214; age 
of, 215, 216. 

Teacher: 

character of his work, 182. 
Testament, Old, its teachings, 

231. 

Testament, New, fruit of many 
trees, 232. 

Temperature and Contraction, 
213 

Te Deum, 436. 

Theologians: 

how characterized, 44; what 
they seek, 57; their great 
error, 232; Lord Bacon on, 
4 ° 4 - 

Theological Schools: 

their character. 45, 46, 65. 



INDEX. 


443 


Theological Professors: 

how restrained, 45, repair¬ 
ing the breaches, 46. 
Thoughts, Emerson on, 183. 
Thunderstorm, a, 85. 

Tobacco, foul uses of, 92. 

Town, a strange, 104. 

Trustees: 

Mrs. Woundedheart on; 
109; yet not trusted, 113. 
Truth : 

alone saves, 57, 224; what, 
115; and faith, 181, 279, 312; 
and religion, 316. 

Truthful, Mr.: 

hospitality of, 75, 76; anx¬ 
iety of, 90. 

Truthseeker, Mr., meets Mer¬ 
ton, 142. * 

Unbelief, causes of, 422. 
Universe: 

subject to decay and death, 
205; not created in fact, 205, 
208, 212, 220. 

Vergil, 39, 71, 98, 99 - 
Vicarious Atonement, 313; evil 
lesults of faith in, 125; no 
faith in, 413. 

Virgin, conception by, 238, 240, 
241.313. 

Virgin Mary: a lawful wife, 257. 
Virtue: 

definition of, 352; a result, 
353: its own reward, 354; 


brings peace, 354. 

Virtuous Acts, what constitutes, 
166. 

Visions, 420. 

Visit, Merton makes a, 104. 
Vulgar, the, 395. 

Walk: 

a long, 79, 81; a perilous, 84. 
Wheat, Mr., and his call, 149. 
Wife: 

“a rum one,” 85; dearer than 
all, 92, 144; good, the gift of 
God, 177; husband’s love for, 
327, 369. 

Woman: 

beautiful, power of, 78; 
beautiful and good, 88: with 
the serpent’s sting, 107; Mr. 
Headstrong on, 137; man’s 

• love for, 327. 

Workandpray Mr.; 

on divine forgiveness, 143; 
on Mrs. Squareman, 143. 
Work: 

unproductive,m; and faith, 
Hi- 

World, creation of, 203. 

Worldly Men and Churchmem- 
bers, 124; Sunshine on, 144. 
Worship, must be sincere, 415. 
Woundedheart, Mrs.: 

* on the church-officers, 107; 
Merton’s appeal to, 108. 

Zoroaster on God, 263. 



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